


Twelve Days of Fictmas 2018

by ThousandFreckles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angel Wings, Angelic GPS, Angst, Big Brothers, Caring Castiel (Supernatural), Cas gets triggered, Castiel & Dean Winchester Friendship, Castiel & Mary Winchester Friendship, Castiel (Supernatural) Whump, Castiel misses Gabriel, Christmas, Cliffhanger, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hex Bags are Fun!, Humor, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Kline & Claire Novak Friendship, Jack Kline & Sam Winchester Friendship, Jack is good with animals, John Winchester tried sometimes, Merry Christmas, More tags to be added, Nothing explicit, Rated T for chapter 4, Sick Fic, Team Free Will 2.0, The Talk, Torture, Ugly Sweaters, all chapters after the first are spoiler free, angel grace headcanon, cat posters, cuddle time, cuddles and snuggles, mentions events of episode but not plot if that makes sense, mentions of bodily fluids, minor spoilers for season 14 episode 1, right before christmas too, slight naughtiness, soul headcanon, the comfort after the hurt, the hurt before the comfort, wing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-17 13:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16975596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThousandFreckles/pseuds/ThousandFreckles
Summary: A series of twelve short(ish) fanfics for your enjoyment this holiday season. Set vaguely season 14, but no spoilers past episode 1 (and even then only for the vague plot of the episode). Features copious amounts of Team Free Will 2.0, lots of family feels, plenty of bonus characters, more hurt/comfort than you can shake a stick at, a good dose of action, and a bang-up conclusion that will (hopefully) rock your Christmas Eve.Day Twelve: The Christmas AngelCastiel has been rescued and is recovering in the bunker, albeit slowly. Just as Dean and Sam and the others are learning how to help the angel with his long-term recovery, an unexpected visitor shows up with a most welcome gift. (Part 3 of finale--the end)





	1. Day One: A Moment's Respite

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't attempted a project like this since I was in college and obsessed with Lord of the Rings. (Don't...don't look for it. I wasn't on antidepressants yet and everything is kind of horrible and angsty. And violent.)
> 
> The twelve stories here are loosely connected, with the last three kind of a three-parter for the conclusion.
> 
> That's all from me! Please enjoy, and happy holidays!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how old her boys are--even the angelic ones--Mary will always look after them

“Just hold still a moment,” Mary murmured, dabbing a bit more antiseptic into the wounds on Castiel's face. “Are you sure you'll heal okay, Cas?”

“I'm fine,” the angel assured her, leaning back as she released his chin. “My grace is a bit more limited with heaven so low on power, but I'm healing. Just a bit slower.”

“Well, still faster than the rest of us,” Mary closed the first aid kit, holding back a wince as it jarred her injured wrist.

“I can heal that,” Cas offered, reaching out for her hand.

“No, it's okay,” Mary held her uninjured hand up, softening her refusal with a smile. “I just need an ice pack and some aspirin. You need to get better before you start healing everyone else.”

Castiel sighed—one of the many human gestures he'd picked up over the years—and focused on his interlaced fingers as they rested on top of the table. “I just feel so useless. Everything I try seems to end badly.”

Mary patted him on the shoulder as she stood up to put the first aid kit away. “Don't say that. We're all doing our best to find Dean, it's okay to make mistakes.”

“I'm sorry. You're all worried about him, but all I did was waste time getting captured.”

“No, don't,” Mary sat back down and took his hands in hers. “It's not your fault. Besides, you're worth it, Cas. You have to know that.”

He looked toward her but couldn't quite meet her eyes. She reminded him so much of Dean sometimes—though he supposed it would be the other way around, with her being the mother. She wasn't the leader, the figurehead Sam had become; but it was her warm, caring soul that kept them all grounded.

“Hey,” she squeezed his hands to pull his attention back to her. “I mean it. You're one of my boys, I will always come after you.”

Castiel let out a small chuckle. “You do understand that I am many millennia older than you.”

“That doesn't mean you don't need a mom anymore,” Mary retorted. “How about your ribs? Do they need to be wrapped?”

Castiel pulled his hands away to touch the front buttons on his shirt self-consciously. He'd hidden the worst of his injuries from Sam—who'd had more than enough to worry about—but apparently it hadn't been enough to convince Mary. “They're already healed. There was very little internal damage, just more bruising.”

Mary lifted one eyebrow, her expression so much like Dean's it made Cas's heart ache. “Do I need to check?”

He pulled further back automatically. “No.”

Castiel fully expected Mary to follow him, strip his shirt and coat, and proclaim that angel healing had nothing on a good old ace bandage. Not that there was much human medicine could do for broken ribs, and those were already healed anyway. Well, mostly.

But Mary just laughed and reached out to rest one hand on his forearm. She was so much more tactile than Dean, and though it wasn't intrusive it was still very different from conversing with the other Winchesters. It was...nice, he decided.

Cas wondered if Dean would have been more like this if it had been Mary who survived.

“Well, I'm going to bed,” Mary announced, patting his arm. “You should probably do the same.”

“I don't sleep,”

“Humor me,” Mary stood and stretched, then pressed an affectionate kiss to the top of Castiel's head as she passed him.

“Good night, Mary.”

She paused in the doorway to send him one last smile. “Good night, Castiel.”


	2. Day Two: Floodwaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys face off against a witch who's been using water magic to flood her hometown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this one seems a little abrupt and weird, it's because it was originally supposed to be longer. Instead, I'm turning it into a full case fic after Christmas, so if you enjoyed this there's more coming.
> 
> Happy holidays!

“Jack!” Dean roared over the rush of the swollen river. “Take her!”

He surged through the water to press the little girl into Jack's free arm. The nephilim tucked her close to his chest, giving the rope he held in his other arm a sharp tug. The survivors on shore hauled him, inch by inch, toward dry land while Dean turned back to sedan mired in the floodwaters.

“Cas?”

“He's being stubborn,” the angel called over his shoulder. Cas had shed his overcoat and jacket for the foray into the floodwaters—both were now wrapped around a woman and infant they'd pulled from a minivan almost half an hour ago—and was levering open the driver's side door of a brown sedan to pull the man inside free.

“No! No! I can't swim!”

Castiel ignored the man's pleas and snapped his seatbelt with one hand. “Sir, I need you to stay calm.”

“You can't hold me!” The man had a good three inches and eighty pounds on Cas...but Cas was still an angel. 

Cas ignored the protest and simply hooked his hands under the man's arms and hauled him bodily, kicking and screaming, out of the car. “Dean?”

“Here,” Dean slipped the rescue harness over the man's shoulders. “They're gonna pull you to shore, all right? Your wife and daughter are safe.” The man gibbered in fear and grabbed at Dean, but was soon pulled out of reach to the safety of dry land.

Well, dry-ish land. The water was still rising.

“Do you see anyone else?” Dean called out, edging closer to Cas to take advantage of the slight break in the current around the angel. 

“There are three people in the second floor of the pawn shop,” Cas pointed toward the tall brick building about half a block away. “I'm afraid we won't be able to reach them until the waters are higher, provided we acquire some sort of water craft.”

“Yeah, well, hopefully Sam can gank the witch responsible for all this.”

Cas flinched, one hand flying up to press against his temple. “He's been praying,” he explained to Dean. “He needs our help. The witch is...uncooperative.”

Dean snorted. Yeah, right. Uncooperative. He threaded his way through the thigh-high water until he was close enough to tell Jack to get the survivors to safety. There had been a camping lodge a mile or so up the mountain, hopefully they could get rid of the threat before the water rose that high.

He turned back to join Cas. The angel was moving effortlessly, even through the foaming water. Though he'd seen it a thousand times, Dean still felt a little bit of awe every time he realized his best friend was something more than human.

Maybe he should have forgotten the awe and focused on his feet, as a bit of detritus in the water tangled around his legs and brought him down. Dean managed a yelp of surprise before he was yanked off his feet, the waters closing over his head.

“Dean!” Cas's voice startled him out of his building panic, and his wrist was gripped tight in a strong hand.

Cas hauled him up, bracing Dean against his own body while the human caught his breath.

“Thanks, Cas.”

“You should watch your step,” Cas replied, his voice flat, betraying no sense of worry.

But his concern showed in the way he refused to release Dean's wrist, all but hauling Dean back through the waters and upstream to Sam.

* * *

Sam Winchester was not having a very good day.

He was currently hiding behind a burnt-out SUV in the Hope Falls municipal parking lot while a witch (who'd apparently transformed herself into a water elemental) pitched an elaborate temper tantrum about her ex-boyfriend.

He''d tried the anti-witch hex bags, the witch-killing bullets, and good old-fashioned couple's counseling but nothing was stopping evil Moana's quest for vengeance.

“You'd never understand,” the witch sobbed again and made another gesture with her outspread hands. The water responded to her movements and surged around the shell of the SUV, threatening to tear Sam off his feet.

“Sammy!” 

Sam twisted around to see over one edge of the SUV. The witch had turned her attention to the newcomers—Dean panting and fighting for balance in the renewed flow of water, Cas looking just a little ridiculous with his white dress shirt plastered to his body and nearly translucent and...were they holding hands?

“She's an elemental now, Dean!” he shouted.

“Oh, really? I hadn't figured!”

Cas half-threw Dean toward the wreckage that sheltered Sam as he ran to tackle the witch. He got in a solid punch across her face, and rested his hand against her forehead to smite her into the next world.

But the witch recovered too quickly, and a column of water shot up from the ground at Cas's feet and knocked him into the air. He landed against a nearby Buick, denting the hood significantly, and rolled off to his feet.

Sam had taken advantage of the witch's momentary distraction to dive out from behind the SUV and surge through the water toward her right side. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dean doing the same to her left, and though she spun around in time to knock him back with another twist of water she couldn't stop Dean from thrusting his angel blade into her back.

It really should have worked. There were so many things the angel blades could kill...it just wasn't fair that this witch was an exception. The blade floated in her middle, water rippling around it. She turned slowly to stare at Dean, almost mournfully, and raised one finger to tap him on the forehead.

Dean convulsed, hands flying to his neck as he choked out mouthfuls of dark water. She'd already used that spell three times; each victim had drowned within minutes.

“No!” Cas was on the witch again. She recoiled from his blows as he focused on sheer physical damage rather than burning her soul out. But even that couldn't last long, as with another surge of power she raised a column of water—this one trapping Cas inside.

“You can't defeat me. I don't just control the water, I am the water!” the witch tightened her fist and the column contracted around Cas, ripping a cry of pain from the angel. 

The water...

Sam slapped at his jacket pockets, finally turning out a handful of small hex bags Rowena had given him. Each one was tied to a different element, and he'd agreed to help her test them.

He tossed a light blue one into the water, focusing his thoughts on the witch's physical body.

“Reo!”

At the word, the water around the witch's feet began to crystallize. She stared down in horror, shrieking and slapping at the ice as it spread up her body. The water column trapping Cas collapsed, the angel rushing to Dean's side as soon as he was free.

The witch was wailing now, clutching at her throat as tendrils of ice crept up the side of her face and into her hair. With one last, desperate motion she flung her hands out toward Sam and the water between them rose up into a wave nearly eight feet high, only to fall apart halfway between them as the last bits of frost covered the witch and she was frozen solid.

Dean shot up with a gasp, coughing out one last mouthful of water and waving off Cas's hovering hands. “Ice spells, Sammy?”

The water was already receding, released from the witch's fury. “Rowena and I have been working on them,” Sam explained, picking his way across the parking lot to join his brothers. “We've already got some with basic fire spells, and they're a lot easier to carry around than flare guns.” Of course, an actual test would involve finding a wendigo but they weren't quite ready to look for that kind of trouble.

“Yeah, well,” Dean accepted Cas's hand to be pulled to his feet. “I don't know about you boys, but I could use a drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, kids, if anyone ever asks if you want fibromyalgia do me a favor and kick them in the shins for me.


	3. Day Three: Stuck Between Floors (With You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grueling mission, a desperate showdown...but the real trial is when the power goes out and the elevator stop.

Dean punched the button for the lobby, leaving a greasy smear on the elevator's control panel. “Friggin demons, man,” he complained.

“Demons with a counterfeit holy artifact,” Sam added, leaning against the back wall of the elevator next to Jack.

“A counterfeit holy artifact that appears to have been constructed from rancid tallow,” Cas said. His trench coat had taken the brunt of the explosion, as he'd dived in front of Sam and Jack when it was apparent that the demons' spell to resurrect one of the Princes of Hell was also a counterfeit.

The coat had been balled up and shoved deep into Dean's weapons bag until they either reached home (and the bunker's industrial washing machine) or Cas recovered enough mojo to clean it. Cas himself was mostly clean of the mess, except for the back of his head and calves.

“At least the explosion vaporized the bodies,” Jack offered. He had a smear of something dark across his forehead and the cuffs of his jeans were singed. And, like them all, his skin was covered in a faint dusting of greasy ash. But he was right; at least there were no bodies to hide.

Of course, that still left the rest of the mess. Seven demons attempting to cast a spell in the penthouse suite of an eighteen-story upscale hotel, using a counterfeit holy grail and the blood of seven virgins. The explosion had not been pleasant. Dean hadn't known people could turn inside out like that.

Suddenly the elevator lurched, the lights flickered, and they shuddered to a stop in total darkness.

Emergency lighting kicked on after a moment, flooding the small elevator car with dim yellow light. Dean angrily began mashing buttons on the keypad, with no result as the power was out. Sam just let out a groan and sank down to sit against the side of the elevator. “That's not gonna help, Dean.”

Dean kicked the panel below the buttons and started examining the door. “Think we got anything that can pry this open?”

“Dude, come on, I'm sure they're working on it,” Sam replied.

“Can you even smell yourself, Sammy? I don't want to be in this tiny box any longer than I have to.”

That wasn't exactly fair. Of course he knew what they smelled like—rancid fat, blood, ash, burnt meat—but the ozone-like smell of magic was overpowering it all. In fact, since he'd taken a bowlful of the spell's dry ingredients to the face all he could smell was ozone. Probably a blessing, judging by the mystery stains on their clothing.

Jack settled down next to Sam. “We're not going to fall, are we?”

“What?” Sam glanced at the younger man and shook his head. “No, Jack, there are brakes lock the elevator car down in case of an emergency. It would take something more drastic than a power loss for those to fail.”

Jack frowned. “So is this part of a heist?”

“A what?”

“A heist. They shut the building down to disable security, trapping hostages on the top floor under the pretense of a political statement, while the real team is in the basement emptying the safe.”

Sam stared at Jack for a moment. “Dean!” he glared up at his older brother. “Have you been making Jack watch Die Hard again?”

“What? It's a Christmas movie,” Dean retorted. “Hey, Cas, think you can bust these open?”

“It is not!” Same shook his head. “Look, Jack, that was just a movie. There was probably a problem in the electrical room, that's all.”

“Oh,” Jack settled back down, disappointment obvious on his face. 

“Cas?” Dean crossed the short distance to nudge Cas's shoe with his foot. “You with us?”

The angel had sat down and leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed. “Where else would I be?”

“No, just...never mind. Think you can open the door?”

“I'm sure you do,” Cas said. 

Dean frowned. “What?”

Cas opened his eyes and looked up at the hunter. “Think I can open the door.”

“You sure you're okay?” Dean asked, crouching down next to his friend. “You seem a little...spacey.”

“He just put all of your bones back in their sockets,” Sam called. “Maybe just let him rest, Dean?”

Dean rolled his eyes and sat down at the other side of the elevator, across from Cas. So that one demon had known one pesky little spell that had popped most of his joints out of place, and if it hadn't been for Cas he could have been out of commission for days recovering. He'd had bones out of joint before it wasn't a big deal...though it was kind of nice not facing days of pain and swelling, so maybe a the celestial healing was good in this case.

So. No smiting elevator doors after a grueling demon battle and healing nearly every joint in someone's body, not until they gotten Heaven fixed anyway. Just another thing to add to Sam's 'let's not ask Cas to do this because he's sensitive about his limits sometimes' list. 

Because of course Sam had a list. 

They were quiet for a few minutes. Cas with his eyes closed (gathering midichlorians from the air or whatever it was angels did), Jack picking at a lump of...something on his knee, Sam trying to get a signal on his cellphone, and Dean tapping the wall behind him and trying to think if he had anything in his bag thin enough to wedge through the elevator doors.

“Know what this reminds me of?” Dean said suddenly. “Remember that case in Vegas, Sammy?”

Sam looked up. “Which one?”

“Come on. Elevators?” Dean grinned at his brother. “You don't remember?”

“No, Dean,” Sam's attention was back on his phone. “We've worked a few cases in Vegas, I don't remember anything special.”

Dean almost gave up, but Jack was looking at him with interest and even Cas seemed roused out of whatever meditative state he had been in.

Okay. Story time.

“You were probably three,” Dean began. “Dad had a friend that worked at this old hotel away from the strip, some kind of cursed object in some antiques they'd bought at auction. He took us with him because his friend said we could have the run of the hotel, since there weren't many guests.”

“What about the curse?” Jack piped in. He'd cross his legs and had his chin propped in one hand, looking much younger than his...well, slightly older than his one-and-a-half years. They really needed to get that straightened out in case of another emergency.

“Those were all in the basement,” Dean explained. “We just had the main floors. They had this big banqueting room, and we got in our socks and slid down the table. Until maintenance caught us and made us stop, anyway. But what Sammy really loved was the elevator.”

Dean rested his head against the wall, letting the memories wash over him. “It was a glass elevator that looked out at the rest of the city. At night you could see all the lights from the casinos and the other hotels, and during the day there was this little nature garden where Dad swore he'd seen a jackalope. We spent hours riding up and down in that elevator.”

Sammy had stopped to listen. “I don't...I'm not sure I remember that, Dean,” he finally said, sounding a little disappointed.

“Well, you were only three,” Dean shrugged, trying to change the subject. He hadn't thought about those days in a long time—back when Dad had been more of a Dad and less of a general, when 'Take care of Sammy' just meant potty training and bedtime; not knocking out bathroom windows because the one werewolf Dad had missed had tracked him back to the hotel and they were trapped.

“I like elevators,” Jack said. “Moving up and down...it's almost like flying.”

“I don't,” Cas said. He shifted against the wall, and something in the lines of his body looked more relaxed, like he'd gotten some strength back. “It's disconcerting to start at one destination and arrive at another without making the journey yourself.”

Sam and Dean stared at each other for a moment, then doubled over with laughter.

Cas looked affronted, and Dean managed to pull himself together enough to splutter out a response to the angel's statement. “Dude...why do you think we didn't like being flown around?”

The angel squinted. “You always complained of bowel obstructions, Dean, I don't see how it's the same.”

Dean waved him off, too happy that 'wings' wasn't being added to Sam's list to explain further. 

The elevator lurched again, but before anyone could panic (beyond Jack grabbing Sam's arm hard enough to cut of circulation), the doors gave a squeak and a groan and slowly—very slowly—moved apart.

“You fellas okay in—good grief, what is that smell?” A maintenance worker had stuck his head in momentarily, but pulled it back out when met with the pungent odor of the boys' demon vanquishing. “You were only in there an hour, what did you do?”

“You don't want to know,” Sam called. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” the maintenance worker shone a flashlight around the interior of the elevator car. “You boys get caught in a grease fire or something?”

“Or something,” Dean agreed. “Can we get out of here now?”

“Yep, step right this way,” the man lowered a short stepladder into the elevator to make up for the climb to the upper floor. “Just mind your heads.”

“What happened?” Sam asked, accepting the man's hand as he climbed out onto the twelfth floor of the hotel.

“Coupla kids cut power to the building,” the man shook his head, levering Jack up out next. “Darndest thing—they'd got it in their heads they could get into the hotel safe if they cut the power. Except it's an old manual safe with a dial, all they did was shut us down until we can get someone out here to fix the electrical box.”

“So it was a heist,” Jack exclaimed.

The man chuckled and patted Jack on the shoulder, then surreptitiously wiped his hand on his leg. “Just a coupla bored kids who've seen Die Hard one too many times.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: Die Hard is totally a Christmas movie.
> 
>  
> 
> PPS: Oh, hi, mid-season finale. I totally saw you coming.


	4. Day Four: The Barista, the Nephilim, His Dads, and Their Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is ready for The Talk. Too bad none of his dads are. (Rated T for slight naughtiness)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: implied potential previous dub-con, depending on how you interpret episode 9x03.

“I need you to tell me about sex.”

Dean spit a mouthful of coffee across the table, nearly splattering Jack, but the nephilim just blinked at him completely nonplussed. “W-what did you say?”

“Sex. You promised you'd tell me, I want to know about it.”

“Okay,” Dean set his coffee mug down and wiped one hand down his face. “Don't you think this is a little sudden?”

“No,” Jack shook his head, leaning forward a little in his seat. “I really think it's important that I know.”

“Look, Jack,” Dean slid his mug from hand to hand for a moment. “I just...don't you really think you should ask Cas about this?”

“Cas?”

“Yeah, he's...he's more your speed, you know?” Dean gestured to the young man. “The whole angel-turned-human thing. And besides, he's actually your dad, right?”

“Actually, I consider all three of you my fathers.”

Despite himself, Dean felt a warmth in his chest. “Well, look, the thing is. I just think it's something you should ask Cas about, okay? I don't have a very good track record with this kind of...stuff.”

Jack sighed, disappointment clearly written on his face, but he did leave the kitchen to go track down one of his other dads.

* * *

“You want to know about what?” Castiel squinted at his young charge, head tilting slightly as though the new perspective would help.

“Sex. The talk. The birds and the bees,” Jack explained. “Dean told me to talk to you.”

“Well,” Cas turned back to cataloging the new spell ingredients Rowena had brought, “Dean is fond of his jokes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bees,” Cas held up a sprig of meadowsweet to inspect it for damage. “There was a time I was fascinated by them.”

“I don't think they mean literal bees, Cas,” Jack said, hopping up to sit on the counter next to the spell supplies. “It's nature stuff. Reproduction. Intercourse.”

Ah. The angel understood the question, now. “And he wants me to discuss the dangers with you?”

“Dangers?” Jack had teased a bit of straw out of an effigy and fiddled with it between his fingers. “You mean like diseases?”

“Well, yes, those are important. But I'm mostly talking about death.”

Jack froze and stared at him. “Death?”

“I don't understand why humans use bees for this sort of thing,” Castiel continued, unaware of the boy's reaction. “There is really only one fertile female in the hive, the drones and workers do not copulate continuously as humans seem to do. I believe the praying mantis is a much better analogy.”

“Cas?”

“The females devour the males during intercourse, which would make some speculate why the males would seek copulation in the first place. Others may claim it is worth such a brutal death.”

“Hey, Cas?”

“There are several breeds of spider that practice sexual cannibalism as well. Some biologists claim that this act makes the resultant offspring stronger, thus giving the evolutionary advantage to the consumed mate, though one would think copulating multiple times would be an advantage as well...”

“Cas!” Jack had caught both of Castiel's hands in his, and only then did the angel realize he had more-or-less shredded the packet of dried sage he'd picked up. “It's okay, Cas. You don't have to say anything else.”

Castiel took a deep breath and nodded. “I just don't want you to get hurt.”

Jack's smile was warm and loving and he wrapped his arms around his surrogate father. “I know. I'll talk to Sam, you don't have to worry about it.”

* * *

Sam was in the archive, cataloging new spellbooks that had come from a raid on a witches' coven. Thanks to them he'd had to add a section for sex magic to the archives and re-categorize several of the smaller sections to make room.

“Hey, Sam?”

He turned as Jack entered the room. “Hey, Jack. Can you hand me that red book?”

Jack picked up the book, turning it over in his hands without really paying attention. “I really need you to explain sex to me.”

Sam dropped clipboard. “I don't...what?”

“Sex. Do I need the euphemisms or do you understand the word?”

“No, I...” Sam climbed off the ladder and gently took the book out of Jack's hands. Maybe this wasn't a conversation to have over an ancient guide to tantric summoning. “Why do you need to know, Jack?”

“Well, everyone else knows.”

“Yeah, but,” Sam looked around the room for inspiration. “It's not...it just seems sudden, that's all.”

“Oh.” Jack looked down. “It's Bekah.”

“Bekah?” Sam was even more confused now. That wasn't one of the refugees from Apocalypse World, and that wasn't anyone he remembered from a case. “Who's Bekah?”

“She's a barista at the coffeehouse in town. We talk a lot.”

Sam pulled Jack down to sit at one of the tables. He set the book in between them, and Jack immediately started toying with the ratty cover. “So you like her?”

Jack shrugged. “I don't know. She's pretty and nice, and we laugh a lot.”

Well, that was a start. “Are you thinking you want to date her?”

Jack shrugged again. “She invited me to their Christmas party.”

“And you need to know about sex for the party?”

“What if it comes up!” Jack looked up at Sam, pleadingly. “What if they start talking about it and I'm the only one who doesn't know what's going on?”

Sam couldn't help but laugh. It was so rare to see Jack act like an actual kid. “Look, Jack, I promise you it's not going to come up at a party like that. If it does you can just say you don't want to talk about it. She just wants to hang out with you, get to know you more.”

Jack frowned. “Can't you tell me anyway, just in case?”

Sam froze. He tried to remember the talk he'd gotten, all those years ago, and everything Dean had explained to him. “Have you talked to Dean?”

“He told me to ask Cas.”

“And Cas?”

“He had some kind of episode and started teaching me about praying mantises. I don't think he understands sex very well.”

Well, as far as Sam knew there had only been April...and then she'd killed him. 

“Look, Jack, I want to help you with this, I really do, okay? You're just gonna have to give me some time to get some stuff together, all right?” 

“Hello?” Rowena's Scottish accent lilted through the room. “Are you back here, Samuel?”

Sam ran one hand through his hair as the red-headed witch caught sight of them and made her way toward the table. “We'll talk about it later, all right, Jack?”

“Why, boys, you look so tense! Whatever is the matter?”

“Sam won't explain sex to me,” Jack announced.

Sam covered his face. Rowena laughed and slid one arm around Jack's shoulders. “Is that all? Why didn't you come to me first, Jack? I can teach you everything you need to know.”

Sam dropped his hand to stare at her. “You can?”

“You can?” Jack twisted around eagerly. “I have this party to go to, and I want to make sure I'm prepared for whatever happens.”

“Say no more, dear,” Rowena patted his shoulder fondly. “I was a mother once, Jack. I know how it is.”

“So...you've got this?” Sam asked. Not that he wanted to leave Jack's sexual education in the hands of a three hundred year old witch, but if she was willing to take it on....

“You just run along and make yourself a cup of tea,” Rowena made a shooing motion with one hand. “Young Jack and I have a lot to discuss.”

* * *

Dean looked up as Sam entered the library. “You okay? You look pale.”

“Yeah,” Sam dropped into a seat opposite Dean's. “Jack just asked me for the sex talk.”

“What?” Dean barely manged to avoid spraying another mouthful of coffee out. “What happened to Cas?”

“He apparently started talking about praying mantises. I mean, his one sexual encounter lead to torture and death, so...”

Dean had to concede the point. He hadn't even thought about that, had just wanted the awkward situation over as soon as possible. “So did you tell him?”

“I didn't have to,” Sam relaxed further into his chair. “Rowena showed up and volunteered.”

“Rowena?”

“She has more experience than all of us,” Sam argued.”

“Yeah, but...Rowena, Sammy?”

“Come on, Dean. What's the worst that could happen?”

And because Sam was a Winchester, an explosion rang through the bunker at that exact moment. The brothers stared at each other for a second before bolting to their feet and down the hall toward the archive room, only to draw back at the sight of some kind of wriggling, tentacled creature on one of the tables.

Jack looked up, an enormous smile spreading across his face. “Look, Sam! Dean! I did it!”

“Aye,” Rowena patted Jack on the shoulder. “It'll be bigger when you summon it during the act, but that was a good practice.”

Sam strode into the room and yanked a red-covered book out of Jack's hands. “Really, Rowena? He wanted the talk, not an introduction to...to this!”

“But the magazines under Dean's bed have tentacles,” Jack protested. “Isn't that normal?”

“Okay,” Dean cut off the kid before he could air any more guilty secrets. Enough was enough. “C'mon, kid, I'll explain everything. You,” he pointed to Rowena and Sam in turn, “just get that thing out of here.”

“I heard a commotion,” Cas poked his head around the corner. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah...you know what?” Dean looped one arm around Jack's shoulders and took Cas's arm with his other hand. “Let's all go have a conversation together. No praying mantises allowed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this one started out as something fun and turned into a slog at the end. And then I traumatized poor Castiel. 
> 
> Anyway. Tomorrow should be better. We get another sliver of a casefic.
> 
> Let me know what you think so far. Do you have a favorite part? A least favorite part? A criticism? An adorable cat story to share?


	5. Day Five: Labyrinthed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sam and Jack vanish during a case, Dean and Cas go after them only to find themselves at the entrance to a familiar labyrinth with a surprising figure at the center of it all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting late, I know, but I made it. Today just got out of hand.
> 
> Like this story did. Um. Just FYI, I teared up a little at the end. You might not, and I had an emotional day, but still. You have been warned.

It was a closet. A boring, normal, hole-in-the-wall closet.

But Jack and Sam had just disappeared inside.

“Can you sense anything?” Dean asked.

Cas held one hand over the door, not quite touching, his brow furrowed in a frown. “There's some kind of warding here,” he finally explained. “I can't quite make sense of it—it's as though there's a great space beyond this door.”

“Yeah, well, it should be a space four feet deep and six feet wide,” Dean retorted.

“I can sense the warding on the inside of the door, but I can't read it from here.” Cas stepped back and shook his head. “There's something familiar about it.”

“All right,” Dean rubbed one hand down his face. “No good all of us getting stuck in there. We'll head back and check the lore, see if there's anything about mystic closets leading to parallel dimensions. I swear to god, if we find out Narnia's real....”

Cas turned to follow, but the closet door suddenly swung open behind him. Cas managed a startled cry as an unseen force began pulling him into the space beyond, then the next thing he knew Dean had slammed into him and they were falling through dark space and out onto a rocky hill in a sunlit world. Their momentum carried them over the edge of the hill, and Castiel was briefly aware of being tucked against Dean's body as they rolled, as though he were as fragile as Sam or Jack.

They rolled to a stop at the base of the hill, where a massive stone wall loomed above them and out to either side.

“You okay?” Dean asked as he pushed himself up to his feet and held a hand down to help Cas.

Castiel nodded and brushed at his coat halfheartedly, even though he could have willed the dirt and leaves away. 

“I don't believe this.”

He looked up at Dean's comment to find the hunter staring slack-jawed at the wall in front of them. “Dean?”

“Cas, it's the Labyrinth. From the movie—you know, the one with David Bowie and all those puppets?”

“Got it in one,” a second, familiar voice called from behind. “But you boys look a little lost...need a hand?”

Castiel turned around slowly. “Gabriel?”

* * *

How the hell was that smug bastard alive? Dean folded his arms and stared at the image of the dead archangel—a little younger than the last time they'd seen him, but still every smarmy inch the same. 

“Let me guess,” Gabriel drawled, “you wished away someone important and now you're here to get them back?”

“Look, don't be a dick,” Dean snarled. “We already know they're up in your castle. Just give us our thirteen hours so we can get up there and beat your ass.”

Gabriel's expression flickered. “Fine. But since you're so smart...you get six.” He snapped his fingers and disappeared with a pop.

“That did not seem wise, Dean.”

“Shut up,” Dean pushed past Cas toward the wall of the labyrinth. “Help me get this gate open.” 

He hoped the rougher treatment would keep Cas from focusing too much on the image of his brother. There was no way that was actually Gabriel, or at least not the one they knew. It could have been Loki but they'd already killed him, and there wasn't a third trickster god running around, was there?

“How do you know where we're going?” Cas asked as the massive gates swung back to let them in.

“It's a movie,” Dean stepped over a fallen branch to run his hand along the opposite wall. “We stayed with a friend of dad's one winter, they had a copy of it on VHS. I don't know how many times we watched it. Here we go!”

The rough wall gave way to a passage entrance, cleverly cut into the wall to be almost invisible. “Things aren't what they seem around here.” He turned left immediately to follow the passage, almost back-tracking toward the gate.

“How do you know which way to go?” Cas called from a few feet behind. 

“Well, in the movie the girl goes to the right,” Dean explained, picking his way around a fallen branch. “This little worm thing says if she'd gone left she'd've gone right to the castle. So, we go left.”

“It's no fun if you cheat,” Gabriel complained. Dean whirled around to find the archangel hovering directly between them. “This is supposed to be a challenge.”

Dean folded his arms. “It's not cheating if you pick a movie I've seen a thousand times.”

Gabriel glowered down at him, then raised one hand and snapped. 

The world went dark.

* * *

Castiel had faced the unpleasantness of being yanked through the ether by another angel before, but this was a different feeling. It was as though the world was moving around them, rather than they moving through the world. 

He was also becoming more convinced that this was an old illusion of his brother, with no sentient consciousness. Something with programmed responses to account for most scenarios—perhaps that was why Gabriel didn't seem to recognize Castiel or the Winchesters.

The world around him blinked into focus and he found himself in a hedge maze, Dean nowhere in sight. Castiel turned slowly in a circle to get his bearings, finally seeing the castle tower looming in one direction. At least it was something to follow. Dean would be making for the same castle, presumably—it made more sense than trying to find each other. 

Something rustled behind him, but there was nothing there when Castiel turned around. He couldn't sense anything, though he probably wouldn't if this world were all illusion and there were no actual living things.

Again, the bushes behind him rustled, and this time when he turned he caught sight of the edge of a black-robed figure scurrying around a corner of the maze.

“Hello?” Castiel tentatively took a step toward where he'd seen the figure, only to hear the rustling behind him again. He half-turned to glance over his shoulder, not surprised when the path behind him was empty, and turned back around to come face-to-face with a large being in dark armor. 

He barely had time to realize the thing was even taller than Sam before a hand in a heavy iron gauntlet smashed into his face.

* * *

Dean cursed and kicked the old stone wall of the labyrinth. The walls kept changing any time his back was turned, so none of the maze-solving tricks he and Sammy had learned over the years were helping. He could still see the castle over the walls, but no matter how hard he tried to angle his path toward it the walls would change and maneuver him back to the other direction. 

He rounded a corner to find another dead end and swore. But this time, when he turned back around the path behind him was blocked, too. “What the hell?”

Something cleared its throat.

Dean whirled around, hand going to his back where he'd stowed his gun, but paused when he found the two-headed gate guardians from the movie. They were just a stupid-looking as he remembered—one head on top and one on bottom, all chittering nonsense and tapping their hands on their shields.

“You can only ask one!” one of them said. “One of them always lies, and one always tells the truth!”

Right. He remembered this puzzle. Caleb had been so pleased that Sammy had a head for logic puzzles he'd taught the kid how to play chess, and there'd been no stopping the little nerd ever since.

Well. Giant nerd.

But Dean knew exactly what to do.

“All right,” he pulled his gun out and checked the safety. “Which one's the right door?”

The guardians screeched in alarm and ducked behind their shields, both doors swinging open.

Well. One lead to the shrub part of the labyrinth, one was just a pit full of spikes. That was easy.

Dean easily stepped over the false floor behind the door and into the next stage of the labyrinth.

* * *

Castiel was not having as much luck with his obstacles. Though the initial blow had caught him by surprise, he'd managed to turn his fall into a roll and twist to his feet, blade in hand. The armored beast he was facing was easily seven feet tall and swung a spiked ball from a chain in one massive hand.

He could hear more scurrying sounds around him, and out of the corner of his eye saw more creatures joining the fight. These were much smaller than the first, only reaching Cas's shoulder, and armed with polearms and spears. They were trying to surround him, but Castiel continued to back away to keep as many in view as possible.

The big one gave a gutteral shout and lunged, swinging his weapon in an arc to catch the angel. Castiel dove forward and rolled under the chain, letting the creatures on his right take the brunt of the attack. 

One creature shoved its spear at him as he rose, but he easily knocked it aside and slid his blade along the weapon's shaft to pierce the beast in the neck. It gave a strangled cry and exploded into dust. The others shrieked at this, knocking the butts of their spears against the ground and stamping their feet. 

Castiel whirled around to face them, backing into the open space left by his dead enemy. “I don't want to fight you,” he announced. “Just let me pass.”

They continued shrieking and pointing, and the big one swung his chain-mace again, knocking over several of the smaller ones along the way.

It had learned from the last time, and the chain was now too low for Cas to avoid. He tried, bracing himself to jump over the chain but it caught him around one ankle and brought him down. The chain twisted and pinched as it wrapped around his leg, and before he could work himself free the mace end slammed into his back, several spikes piercing into his skin.

Castiel tried to push himself up, now shaking from pain, but the little creatures were on him in an instant jabbing him with the blunt ends of their weapons. He was forced to curl up, arms over his face, to protect the more sensitive areas of his body as they struck him over and over. 

A wordless shout sent the creatures scattering, but it was just the big one. It bent down and tangled its fingers in the chain wrapped around Castiel's leg and heaved him up, dangling him from one hand upside-down, to peer at his face. 

Cas had dropped his blade, but he was by no means defenseless without it. He gritted his teeth and swung against the creature's grip, even though the chains bit and tore at his skin and the thing just laughed and shook him.

It only took a moment. He swung close enough to grab the faceplate of the thing's helmet and pressed his other hand to the top of its head.

* * *

Dean could hear the shrieking and yelling before he saw the explosion. Brilliant white light lit up the sky over a section of the hedge maze, followed by a column of something dark—not smoke, maybe ashes?

“Cas!” He plowed straight through toward the sound, labyrinth be damned—these were just bushes now. A few thicker branches gave him some trouble, but it didn't take long for him to reach the clearing where Cas was.

The angel was in pitiful shape. A long, dark chain wrapped around one leg with a heavy, spiked ball hanging at one end, and his clothes were torn and bloody. Dark bruises were starting to form on his face, and he seemed to be trying to fight off a group of tiny spearmen with his bare hands. Dean could see the angel blade in the dirt a few feet from Castiel, unnoticed by any of his attackers, and he strode into the clearing and scooped it up, stabbing it into the back of the first spearman he could reach before any of them could notice him. The thing exploded into brown dust, its spear clattering to the stones at its feet.

“Dean!” Cas's voice was tight with relief. “They won't stop.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” There were several piles of dirt around the clearing, showing where other of the little creatures had been killed, as well as one much larger pile close to Cas. “You okay?” Dean called, fending off another spearman.

Cas dodged a blow, wrapped his hands around the shaft at the base of the spearhead and yanked it out of its owners grip. He slammed the butt of the spear into the creature's midsection before flipping the spear gracefully to stab it through the beast, ending its life in another column of dust. “I have certainly been better.”

Dean had finally backed close enough to pass Cas's blade back to him. “You know what? Screw this.” He yanked his gun from its holster and shot the closest spearman, then another, and as he was rounding on a third they began shrieking and running away.

With a sigh of relief, the angel staggered against Dean, clutching at his arm for support. “I think I could use some assistance, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got you. Here, just sit down,” Dean carefully took Cas by the upper arms and lowered him to the ground. The chain around his leg had drawn blood in places, and on closer look Dean could see that the metal of the links was rough and barbed in places.

“If I pull his off can you heal up?” he asked Cas. The angel nodded.

“My wounds are not significant,” Cas said. “I should be fine in a moment.”

“Yeah, well, take it easy,” Dean gently lifted one link loose and hissed as blood welled up in the wound. “I think we're almost to the end.”

“That's good news.” Cas stared down at him, pulling shreds of his pant leg away so Dean could twist another section of chain free. The skin was slowly knitting together as the chain was removed, but it seemed like Cas was focusing on the worst damage first.

Dean flung the last bit of chain away and studied Cas's injured leg. Most of the bleeding had stopped, but there were some nasty-looking bruises left. “Think you can walk?”

Cas pushed himself to his feet, stumbling as his wounded leg tried to take his weight. Dean shook his head and wrapped Cas's arm around his shoulder, supporting the angel on his bad side.

“Come on,” he said, letting Cas set the pace as they walked. “We should reach the goblin city soon, and then it's a straight shot to the castle.”

* * *

It really was amazing how much of this Labyrinth story Dean knew. He'd explained most of it as they walked through the rest of the hedge maze, supporting Cas as they walked so the angel could spare the strength to heal his wounds. By the time they reached the outskirts of the city he'd even been able to mend the tatters in his clothing, and could walk unaided.

The streets were deserted. “That's weird,” Dean muttered, peeking through the window of one of the little huts that lined the street. “Wouldn't you think there'd be, y'know, goblins in the goblin city?”

“I don't believe this is a complete dimension, Dean,” Cas replied. He couldn't sense any living things, except two up in the castle, but that didn't mean there wasn't anything here. “I don't think anything we've encountered has had any sense of self-awareness.”

Dean paused, looking up and down the empty street. “Yeah, I had that feeling, too. Don't get me wrong, Gabriel could always be kind of a dick...but he seemed kind of fake, you know?”

Castiel's chest tightened a little at the mention of his brother's name. He could still close his eyes and see his brother in the bunker, the shadow of his wings spreading across the wall as he challenged Asmodeus...and that image was almost always overlayed with one of Gabriel on the forest floor of the apocalypse world, flanked by the burnt prints of his mighty wings.

“Hey,” Dean had a hand on his shoulder. “He was a dick but I kind of miss him too, okay? He was one of the good ones.”

He nodded and pushed ahead, gently brushing off Dean's hand. As much as his friend's compassion meant to him the wound was too real here, surrounded by the world his brother had created. “I think I can sense Sam and Jack,” he called over his shoulder.

Dean, to his credit, just followed. He'd grabbed one of the spears from their battle in the hedge maze, not wanting to use his firearms more than necessary, but it seemed pointless now. There was just...nothing.

“I think Gabriel planned on being here for the final confrontation,” Cas finally said, as they found the castle doors swinging on broken hinges. “He could leave this dimension running on its own and only visit for his own entertainment.”

The castle gates opened to a large, lavish throne room with elaborate columns lining the way to the goblin king's throne.

It was empty.

This was meant to be the place of the heroes' triumph, the defeat of their enemy and return of what was stolen. Instead it was just...kind of quiet and sad.

“Cas,” Dean tapped Castiel on the arm and pointed. There was a set of manacles on the wall behind the throne, and Jack and Sam were locked into them. Dean sprinted toward them, Castiel following at a more cautious pace with an eye out for dangers.

“Sammy?” Dean had his hands cupped around his brother's face. “Come on, Sammy, wake up.”

“It's the manacles,” Cas explained, bending to study the ones trapping Jack. “There's a sleeping enchantment on them...if we can get them open they should wake up.”

“Right,” Dean dug a set of lockpicks out of his pocket. “Hang on, we'll have you guys out in a moment.”

Castiel slowly turned around to study the room, feeling the slight tug of some kind of spellwork at play. His eyes finally landed on the large crystal at the top of the throne. It wasn't remarkable, just a large sphere that could have been made of glass, but it was nestled in a delicate cage of filigreed gold.

“Hey, Sammy, there you are.”

The angel glanced back to see the younger hunter stirring from his enchanted sleep. “Dean?” Sam's voice was slightly slurred, but he seemed all right.

“Yeah, hang on, let me get Jack.”

Castiel turned back to the throne. If he took the stone, this world could never trap another innocent. But one of his brother's creations would be destroyed. 

Behind him, Jack gave a groan as Dean pried the manacles open. There really wasn't a choice in any of this.

Castiel reached up to the top of the throne and plucked the crystal free.

* * *

There was that dizzying sense of not-being again, and the four of them found themselves sprawled out in the empty bedroom they'd been investigating in the first place.

Dean immediately rolled to his feet to check on his brother. “Sammy? You okay?”

Sam batted at his hands ineffectually. “What...what happened?”

“You were trapped in a spell,” Castiel explained, kneeling next to Jack. He pressed two fingers to the young man's head and Jack immediately sat up, gasping for breath and wide awake. “It was an old spell of Gabriel's.”

“Gabriel?” Sam reached out to snag Cas's sleeve. “Was he...?”

“No,” Cas touched Sam as well, purging the effects of the spell from the younger Winchester's body. “It was just an old illusion.”

Dean caught sight of the round crystal cradled against Cas's chest. “Is that?”

“The focal point,” Cas nodded, holding it out for inspection. It was just a round, clear orb, almost like the kind witches used for scrying. “Without Gabriel's power it won't be able to ensnare another victim, but perhaps we should destroy it anyway.”

Dean gently pushed it back toward Cas. “Naw. I think you should keep it. It's about time you had something to put in your room.”

Cas's eyes looked suspiciously bright for a moment, then he gently tucked the sphere into one of the pockets of his coat. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean patted him on his shoulder and leaned over to help Sam get to his feet. “Let's go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hands up everyone who wants to watch Labyrinth now. 
> 
> I swear, this is the angstiest I have. And tomorrow's is super silly to make up for this.
> 
> (I'd love to hear what you think of everything so far. We're almost halfway to the end!)


	6. Day Six: Tagged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is trying to put together the perfect gift for Dean. Jack just wants to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure, unadulterated silliness.

“Good morning, Sam,” Jack called as he entered the kitchen to dig through the crisper drawer in the refrigerator for a yellow apple. He'd gone a little out of control on the last supply run and convinced Mary to buy him one of every variety of apple so he could try them all—so far pink lady was his favorite—and he still had about six to go.

“Hi Jack,” Sam glanced up from his laptop for a moment, then returned to furious typing.

“Did you find a case?” Jack sat down in the opposite chair and bit into the apple. Hmmm. Softer texture than the gala he'd tried last night, and maybe a little less sweet.

“No, I'm looking for a Christmas present for Dean.”

Jack leaned forward. “Really? Can I help?”

Sam glanced up at him, hesitated, then turned the laptop to face Jack.

The younger man frowned. “GPS tracking chips?”

“Yeah, it's...Dean!” Sam slammed the laptop shut as his older brother entered the kitchen.

Dean, hair standing almost on end, gray robe belted at his waist (after he'd traumatized poor Maggie by walking into the kitchen in just his boxers, Dean had started showing a little more care for how he wandered around the bunker), stared between the two of them for a moment. “Showing the kid porn already, Sammy?”

“No!”

“We're looking for a present,” Jack announced, taking another bite of apple. Definitely not his favorite, but still tasty. 

Sam kicked him under the table and shook his head.

“What? I didn't say it was for him.”

* * *

The next time Jack found Sam, the older hunter had a few old angelic reference books spread out on the table. 

“Is this part of Dean's present?” he asked excitedly, craning his neck to read the notes on the legal pad at Sam's elbow.

“You can't tell Dean anything about this,” Sam warned. “I'm researching how angel grace interferes with electronic devices.”

“Why don't you just ask Cas?”

'I don't...” Sam rubbed a hand over his face. “I just can't, Jack.”

“Oh. Well, you keep reading, I'll go ask him.”

“Jack!”

* * *

Apparently he wasn't allowed to tell Cas about Dean's present, either, but Sam did let him ride along to the nearby large animal clinic. While Sam and one of the vets were discussing something about battery life and range, Jack ventured into the barn where the recovering animals were kept. 

There was a horse there who'd needed surgery to repair an injured leg, and she was being held in an upright harness so she could keep the weight off the leg without stressing the rest of her body. She was obviously frightened at being away from home, so Jack spent a few minutes stroking her nose and telling her how brave she was and how he hoped she'd be back for Christmas. He'd always had a calming effect on animals, even without his grace.

“I think Evergreen likes you,” someone commented over Jack's shoulder. He looked up into the warm smile of a middle-aged woman who slid her hand down the mare's neck and made soothing noises.

“She's very brave,” Jack replied, trying to mimic the woman's movements.

“Yep. She got torn up keeping a wild dog away from her foal. She's a good mama.”

Jack swallowed, thinking about all his own mother had done for him. “She's amazing,” he whispered. He could see Sam standing in the doorway of the barn and reluctantly gave Evergreen one last stroke. “Can I come back and visit her again?”

The woman patted him on the shoulder. “I think she'd like that.”

* * *

The next time, he tracked Sam down by the smell of burning incense to the dungeon behind the library. Dean was out on a beer run and Mary had convinced Cas to help her find Christmas presents for her sons, so it was just the two of them in the bunker at the moment.

“Why are you melting down an angel blade?” he asked, studying the pattern of the sigils on the drop cloth Sam had spread over the floor.

“I just need something that can affect angelic biology,” Sam explained. “It's complicated.”

Jack took in the dozen or so bowls of spell ingredients, the shavings of angel blade, and the odd device Sam had taken from the veterinarian's clinic. “I think Dean would appreciate a pie,” he offered. He and Maggie had been studying pie recipes and they were pretty sure they could make one. He'd settled on a combination of granny smith and pink lady apples,because the recipe said to use sweet and tart apples, and Maggie had said she'd seen pre-made pie crusts at the store.

Sam sighed. “Trust me, Jack. I know what I'm doing.”

The spell ingredients at Sam's feet exploded, leaving a foul-smelling purple cloud wafting up to the ceiling.

* * *

Christmas was still over a week away, but that night at dinner Sam presented Dean with a brightly-wrapped item. The older Winchester teased his brother for a few minutes, then tore apart the paper to reveal the device Sam had gotten from the vet, refitted with a tip cut down from an angel blade.

“I give up,” Dean held the item up between him and Sam. “What am I supposed to pierce with this?”

“It's what the vet's office uses to chip animals. That one's modified with a custom GPS locator chip designed to work with angel physiology.”

Dean stared at his brother for a moment. “What are you saying?”

Sam let out a sigh. “You're always complaining that he's turned his phone off or he's out of a range, and then you pace for hours insisting he's been kidnapped again.”

“Sammy...”

“I'm saying that thing will let us locate Cas wherever he is, as long as it's this dimension.”

“You made me a GPS tracker...to put in Cas?”

Sam stretched his arms over his head and gave Dean a wicked smile. “You've said it yourself, whenever he goes off by himself he gets into trouble. This will save us some time.”

The bunker door swung open just then and Mary called out a greeting as she and Castiel entered, lugging a few shopping bags with them.

Dean looked up to his best friend with broad grin on his face. “Hey, Cas, can you come here for a second?”


	7. Day Seven: Bah, Humbug!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Cas investigate a Christmas shopping center where someone seems to be targeting anyone lacking Christmas spirit.

Dean pulled the Impala into a space outside the Lynchburg Christmas Village.”You sure about this, Sam?”

“All four victims have this place in common,” Sam replied, laptop open on his knees. “Marguerite Hensley actually worked here before her accident, and the other three made purchases at a few of the shops.”

Dean stared out the window at the shopping center in question. Every year the city of Lynchburg turned its outdoor flea market into a Christmas wonderland for local businesses and craftsmen. Everything from homemade peanut brittle to custom stereo equipment could be found here between Thanksgiving and Christmas—it just didn't seem the right place for a curse that was attacking people with their own decorations.

“We should have brought Jack,” he commented as he, Sam, and Cas got out of the car. The kid had stayed behind to help decorate the bunker—Donna, Jody, and the girls were coming in for Christmas, as well as Mom and Bobby and a few of the refugees from apocalypse world.

The Christmas Village was, well, Dean wasn't much of one for the word 'adorable', but that was it. Lights covered every stall in the market, there was a giant Christmas tree in the open area at the center, food carts with holiday treats filled the aisles, and Christmas music was being piped in overhead. It was like something out of an old movie.

“Okay, so, split up?” Sam scrolled through something on his phone. “Looks like two of the vics visited a candle shop on the eastern row, I'll start there. You two wanna handle the knit shop and Santa, then we'll meet back here at the south end?”

Dean glanced at Cas, who was staring at the Christmas decorations with wide eyes, and nodded. “We've got it.”

Sam shot him a bitchface. “We'll cover more ground if we split up, Dean.”

Yeah, and Cas hadn't really had a human Christmas before. “I said we've got it. Go, buy yourself something lavender, Samantha.”

As his younger brother trotted off in one direction, bitchface firmly in place, Dean patiently positioned himself in Cas's line of sight and waited for the angel to come back to himself. “Dean?”

“Come on,” Dean beckoned toward the bright lights. “We can do a little shopping while we look around.”

Cas frowned but dutifully followed Dean into the market. “Shouldn't we be investigating?”

“We can do both,” Dean said, studying the store directory. “One of the victims worked at this shop, Arctic Knits, and another shopped there. I promised Mom I'd buy her the ugliest sweater in the market, and sometimes people are more willing to talk if you're spending money.”

He could almost feel Cas's confusion, even though he wasn't facing the angel anymore. “Are ugly sweaters important?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean slowed down long enough to loop an arm around Cas's shoulders. “Absolutely.”

The market was packed, but everyone shopping just seemed so damn cheerful and pleasant that it wasn't too difficult to move around. Completely unlike his few mall experiences. It was like just being here, surrounded by the decorations and the music, filled you with the sense of goodwill all the Christmas movies said you were supposed to have.

And Arctic Knits did not disappoint. While the little shop carried a wide assortment of hats, scarves, and gloves they had an entire wall dedicated to ugly Christmas sweaters.

“Yes!” Dean latched onto one sweater immediately. It was neon-bright. It was horrible. It had Santa on the front in his sleigh, with the line of reindeer wrapping around the back. A giant, terrifying nutcracker was poking out of Santa's toy bag. Santa himself was holding a beer. There were actual Christmas lights. The collar and cuffs were tinsel. It was awful. It was hideous.

It was perfect.

Cas stared at the sweater for a few moments. “And you wear these things on purpose?”

“It's fun, Cas,” Dean sorted through the other sweaters. “Ah, here we go. You should wear this one,” he held up a sweater covered with an entire flock of angels. They were all pink and blond with gaudy, glittering wings, and the lyrics of 'Angels We Have Heard on High' embroidered around the bottom.

The actual angel took the sweater and gave it a disgusted glance. “Angels do not actually look like this, Dean.”

“For fun,” Dean reminded him gently. “It's for Christmas, just lighten up a little.”

He took both sweaters up to the register, where a girl in a hand-knit Santa hat was working. “Oh, Gladys will be so happy you're buying those,” she said as she rang the sweaters up. “She works all year on her ugly sweaters, she's kind of obsessed.”

“I can see why,” Dean commented. “How's business?”

“Not too bad,” the girl—whose nametag said Karla—gently folded the sweaters and wrapped them in tissue paper. “Everyone has just been so cheerful this year, it's nice. Usually we get some Scrooges right before Christmas griping about last-minute shopping, but not very many this year.”

“Yeah? Anything weird lately?”

Karla frowned, patting the tissue-wrapped sweaters absently. “Well...Cassie had it out with a customer a few days ago. No matter what we did, this guy just wasn't satisfied. He wanted discounts on everything since it's so close to Christmas, saying we couldn't possible sell all our stock on time. Kept saying we should be grateful anyone was buying homemade stuff when they could buy stuff made in factories, how his blog could make or break our store, things like that.”

“Really?” Dean grabbed the bag Karla had tucked the sweaters in. “What happened?”

“It was like Cassie just snapped. She's seasonal help, works for us every year, but she just went off on that guy. Nick had to separate them—he's the guy who plays Santa in the food court. He's a county deputy, said he wouldn't arrest them if they took their argument outside.”

Dean thanked her and turned to find Cas standing behind him, a sweater in his hands. It was another masterpiece—a huge, gray cat took up most of the sweater's front, tangled around in Christmas lights (both knitted accents and actual lights), and the words 'Meowy Christmas' in gaudy, gold text arched across the top. “Cas?”

The angel seemed hesitant. “I didn't know...I have yet to purchase a Christmas gift for Claire?”

“Oh, man, that's perfect. She'll love it.” After all, she had hung onto 'the ugliest cat at the Hot Topical'. Besides, the two of them always seemed to be on such shaky ground that a goofy gift like this would be better than if Cas had tried to find something sentimental. “Hang on, I'm gonna see if I can find one for Donna.”

* * *

Sam was standing next to a spiced cider cart, face twisting up in a scowl when he saw the bags Dean and Cas were lugging with them. “I thought we were here for a case?”

“Unbunch your panties, Samantha,” Dean retorted. “Just a little multitasking. What'd you find out?”

“Well,” Sam flipped open his notepad. “Seems our two vics both tried to argue with the shop staff—one over the price, one over the selection of holiday scents. Which would be normal Christmas shopping events, except...”

“Everyone is so damn cheerful,” Dean finished. “Yeah, it's kinda nice.”

“Is it?” Sam grouched. “It's not normal, Dean. This isn't normal, you're not normal.”

“Thanks.”

“You know what I mean! You're even humming to the music.”

“I like Christmas music,” Dean protested.

“You hate this song.”

Well...technically that was true. Someone had released some god-awful song that year about the angels and the shepherds, focused primarily on the messenger Gabriel, and it seemed like every pop artist was releasing a cover of it. But it just seemed to fit this place. “So, what, witchcraft?” Dean asked, accepting a free sample as a man with a tray of popcorn balls passed by.

“Maybe,” Sam shook his head, trying to ignored the popcorn salesman as he tried to push a sample into Sam's hands. 

“I don't know, it seems pretty harmless, Sam,” Dean protested. “All that's happened is people shopping here are actually enjoying themselves.”

“Four people have been hospitalized. What about them, what about their families?” Sam firmly turned his back on the popcorn guy, refusing the free sample.

“Wait.”

Cas's voice was so low it was practically a growl. He'd been standing quietly off to one side, observing the brothers and the people around them. When Sam and Dean turned to look he had one hand clamped firmly around the popcorn seller's wrist. 

“What were you trying to give my friend?”

The man, smaller than Cas, tried to twist his way out of the angel's grip. “Just a sample, man! Everybody gets one!”

Cas pried a popcorn ball out of the man's hand and held it up to his face to smell. “These are bespelled,” he announced. “Some kind of mood enhancing charm.”

The man stared, white-faced, at Cas and the brothers for a moment, then broke free and took off into the busy shopping center.

At least, he would have, if he could have broken Cas's grip on his wrist. As it was he just whimpered as the angel tightened his hold, then the man was crumpling to the ground. Dean flashed his FBI badge around as Sam cuffed the man and hauled him up, propelling him out toward the car.

* * *

The suspect's name was Jerry O'Toole, and he had so far refused to answer any questions even as Cas poked into each popcorn ball to confirm they were all covered in the same charm. 

“So what is it, Jerry?” Sam had lost most of his patience and loomed over the smaller man. “You get your Christmas jollies hexing people to death?”

“What?” Jerry stared up at Sam, panic written across his face. “I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt! They were just...they didn't understand Christmas.”

“Well, a little girl has to spend Christmas in the hospital because an inflatable snowman gave her mom severe burns,” Dean said, trying to keep a little sympathy in his tone. “Why don't you just tell us what happened, Jerry?”

Jerry's face crumpled. “I just wanted everyone to be happy,” he sniffed, tears running down his face. 

“So you hexed them,” Sam leaned back and shook his head.

“No! I just used my grandmother's recipe!” Jerry wiped his nose on the shoulder of his jacket, leaving a disgusting trail of mucus. “She made those popcorn balls every Christmas and we were always so happy at her house, I thought I could cheer up the people who shop here.

“My grandma loved this place,” Jerry continued. “She used to dress up as Santa's mother and tell the kids stories when Nick couldn't be here to be Santa. She passed away a few months ago, I just wanted...”

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. “No more popcorn balls,” Dean finally said. “They'll only get you in more trouble.”

Jerry nodded, wiping his nose on his other shoulder. Sam made a bitchface and uncuffed the man so he could at least blow his nose like a civilized person.

Which he did. Into his jacket sleeve.

“What do we do about everyone in the hospital, Dean?” Sam asked quietly.

“I, uh, I took care of that,” Jerry spoke up in a small voice. “My grandma, she...she actually left me a lot of money, and since those people seemed so angry after eating their popcorn balls I wondered if they were allergic or something...I already paid their bills.”

The brothers looked at each other again. Behind them, the air filled with the acrid smell of burnt popcorn and sage as Cas destroyed the rest of the popcorn balls. 

It wasn't like they could march Jerry down to the station, announce that he'd bewitched half the town, and have him arrested on four counts of assault. And he had done this out of the best intentions—and if anyone could understand that, it was a Winchester.

“No more popcorn balls,” Dean repeated. “In fact, no more recipes, period. Unless you can get someone to verify that there is no witchcraft involved.”

Jerry was nodding frantically. 

“All right, get out of here,” Dean waved the little man away and leaned back against the Impala. “Well, all that peace and goodwill was nice while it lasted. Now it's back to last-minute shoppers fighting over the last tickle-me-whatever.”

“Hey, that's what Christmas is all about,” Sam teased, clapping Dean on the shoulder. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas, Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Donna's sweater? Christmas tree with a sheriff's star on top, all the decorations were law enforcement related (including toy soldiers in police uniforms and a nutcracker in prison orange), and all the lights were red and blue. She absolutely adored it.


	8. Day Eight: Good Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack only wanted to give his father his wings back, but the spell reveals more than they were prepared for

Jack rubbed his hands together as he read through the spell's directions one final time. He'd found an old journal of spell theory where one of the Men of Letters had suggested the Midas Curse could be modified to almost any element. The original researchers had tested different metals and had even had some success with animal features like ears and tails.

Which was why two of Cas's feathers were in the bowl with the spell ingredients. It was the perfect plan, really. All Jack had to do was perform the spell, touch Castiel, then remove the spell from himself and Castiel would have his wings back.

Jack rolled his sleeves up and made a small cut with a silver knife, letting the blood collect on the blade. He recited the words to the spell and dipped the knife in, shielding his eyes against the flash of light and smoke.

Nothing happened. Jack stared at his hands for a moment, then carefully picked up the wooden spoon he'd left next to the bowl. There was a slight popping sound and a pair of tiny, wooden wings sprouted out of the end of the spoon. The wings fluttered aimlessly, no conscious force behind them to lift the spoon on its own, but Jack laughed anyway. It was perfect!

He rushed for the door, but as soon as he touched the knob it sprouted wings, too. Jack paused for a moment, unsure about leaving a trail of wings throughout the bunker. He went back for the spoon and used it to gingerly push the door open, relieved when the door remained wingless. It must only work for things he was directly touching. Which meant....

Like misshapen butterflies, wings flapped away on Jack's clothes and shoes. That was a side effect he hadn't considered—he'd have to find the countercurse to clear up the extra wings. But first, he had to find his father.

* * *

Dean, Sam, and Cas were in the war room, going over some of the case reports from other hunters in Sam's new hunter network. There was a nasty string of vampire attacks in the Midwest that had too many similarities to be coincidences and Sam had been trying to figure out the pattern (using his freakish, serial-killer-loving brain).

Dean glanced up when Jack entered the room, eyebrows raising at the sight of the kid's clothes. What was with the wings? Some kind of fashion statement?

“Cas?” Jack hesitantly walked toward the angel and held his arms out as though asking for a hug. Castiel smiled fondly and drew Jack close, letting the younger man bury his face in Cas's shoulder. 

It was a sweet moment, but was interrupted when Cas suddenly went rigid and started screaming.

Not just human screams, either. These held some of the harmonics of his true voice, and the lights overhead began sparking and exploding in response.

“What the hell!” Dean shoved the kid away and gently grabbed Cas by the arms. “Cas? C'mon, man, talk to me?”

Cas was writhing, practically pulling them both to the ground as he arched his back and shuddered and screamed. 

There was a sound like cracking wood, then tearing cloth, then two...things erupted from Cas's back. It took Dean a moment to realize they were wings—not the shadows he'd seen in the barn so many years ago—flesh and blood, mangled, skeletal wings. The long bones were twisted, flesh scarred and bare, and what few feathers that hung on looked dull and dead. 

Cas had finally stopped screaming and was just shuddering, fingers twisted into Dean's sleeves and his head against Dean's shoulder.

“I can't...”

Dean gently pushed Cas away from his body a little. “What was that, buddy?”

“I...I can't put them back, Dean,” Cas whispered. His eyes were huge with pain and despair. “They're out and it hurts but they won't go back.”

“Sam?” Dean jerked his head toward Jack. He didn't know what the kid had done, but let Sam take care of it for now. “Let's go,” he said to Cas, slowly easing him up to his feet. Dean wrapped one arm around the angel's waist for support, careful to keep it away from the ruined wings. Cas's room was closer than the infirmary and right now it seemed more important to give Cas some privacy. Those wings...why hadn't he known they were this bad?

“I-I don't understand,” Jack stammered. He'd fallen against the table and there was now a pair of useless wings flapping aimlessly from the center. “Cas....”

“Sammy!” Dean barked at his brother. Jack visibly flinched at the anger in Dean's voice, and Sam smoothly stepped in between them. Dean would never hurt Jack, but he sure as hell wanted to tear him a new one right now. 

Cas was still shaking, though a bit less than before, one hand twisted in the back of Dean's shirt and his face pressed against the hunter's shoulder. Dean half-carried him down to his room, wincing every time he heard the raw scrape of Cas's wings against the floor or walls. 

“Almost there, buddy,” Dean murmured, fumbling open Cas's door and flipping on the lights. “Okay, we gotta get you on the bed. Can you, uh...can you move your wings at all?”

The angel nodded, muscles locking into place as he painfully dragged his damaged wings out of the hall. Cas let out a whimper and sagged against Dean, clearly exhausted.

“Okay, good, that was real good,” Dean tightened his grip around Cas's waist in a half hug. He pulled them forward a few steps to the side of the bed and stopped to study it.

Dean cursed under his breath. He slowly eased himself out of Cas's grip and stood facing him, gripping his face with both hands. “Need you to look at me, Cas.”

Castiel's gaze flickered up, eyes bright but unfocused. “Dean?” he rasped, clutching at the hunter's arms.

“Yeah, hey, right here. I'm gonna help you lie down, okay? I need to touch your wings so you can lie down, do you understand me?”

Cas's eyes slid closed and Dean patted his cheek to pull him back, smiling when his friend's gaze focused again. “Stay with me, okay?”

When Cas finally nodded, Dean helped him sit down on the bed, leaning against the headboard, then gently slid his arm under the wings and walked around until he was behind Cas. He felt the angel shudder at the contact, and tried to act detached and calm and like he carried around his best friend's wings all the time (even while he mind was screaming at how weird this was).

“Okay, there we go,” Dean arranged the wings as comfortably as possible, trying to fold them at the natural joints so the tips wouldn't drag on the floor. God, they were a mess. Lumps of scar tissue that left feathers lying at odd angles, broken and twisted quills, and Dean thought he could see more than one badly-healed fracture.

Cas gave a shudder and slid down to lie on the bed, legs still hanging off the side. Dean shook his head and came back around to Cas's side, hooking his arms under the angel's knees to place them on top of the comforter. “I'm gonna get the first aide kit, I'll be right back.”

“Dean,” Cas rasped, fingers hooked in his sleeve again. “I don't...please....”

Dean crouched down so they could see eye to eye. “I'm coming back, I promise.”

“No,” Cas tugged at Dean's sleeve. “I don't need it.”

“Come on, Cas, you're a mess.”

“My grace...” Cas's throat worked in a swallow and his eyes slid shut. “The spell called on my grace to manifest my wings. It wasn't enough. It just...it just hurts, Dean.”

Dean rocked back on his heels, then dragged the desk chair over so he could sit next to the bed. “But Cas, your wings must hurt you. Wouldn't it feel better if we did something about it?”

Cas shook his head. “They're normally...when they're ethereal...” he shuddered through a spasm of pain, “I mostly just feel what's missing. This is...this is just their physical form. I'll be fine as soon as I can put them back.”

The hunter ran a hand over his face. “All right, what do you need from me?”

“Just...” Cas's voice trailed off, but his hand found Dean's. “Please?”

Dean scooted closer so that his knees were practically touching the bed. They'd all had practice sitting at sickbeds before—whether from injure or actual illness. This was really no different...there were times when medicine could do nothing and you could only depend on the comfort of family. When Cas shuddered again Dean ran his fingers through the angel's dark hair, like he had for his little brother so many times. “Sammy'll find the cure,” he murmured. “We'll fix this, Cas. I promise.”

* * *

Sam squinted at the faded writing in the journal. The curse, it seemed, was only supposed to affect inanimate objects—the wings on the spoon, for instance, had been easy to knock back off. 

But Jack had used two angel feathers to activate it, and it had reacted with Cas's grace violently enough to produce wings. 

“Do you think he's okay?” Jack asked. He was meekly straightening up everything he'd used to cast the spell. “I didn't know it would hurt him.”

“We'll figure this out,” Sam said, trying to sound reassuring. 

“I thought I could give him his wings back.”

Sam raked a hand through his hair and fought to keep his temper in check. Right now they needed to find a cure for this, not argue over what Jack did wrong. “Jack, you should never, ever use magic you've never tested on another person without their permission. I'm sure he's gonna be fine, but we need to find a cure for this. Did you read anything about a countercurse?”

“Oh,” Jack rocked back on his heels and stared up at the ceiling in thought. “I think I did—not for this, but one of the other journals talked about a spell to remove some other curses. Hang on.”

He found the journal and passed it over to Sam. “Here,” Jack flipped it open at the spot he'd marked with an old postcard. “I thought it looked interesting.”

Sam read through the spell a few times, nodding to himself. It was a pretty basic spell, but if they tweaked the way Jack had tweaked the Midas Curse they might have something powerful enough to help Cas. “All right, can you find these ingredients for me?” Sam tilted the book so Jack could see the page. “And we're going to need another angel feather—one of Cas's if we have any more.”

Jack raced over to a shoebox on one of the shelves. “Those are...um...he told me these were here,” he said, opening the box for Sam to see. Inside were a dozen or so dark feathers, each a blue so deep it looked black in the storeroom's dim light. “He said our connection meant any spell done with these would be stronger.”

Sam picked out two of the feathers. “Well, he was right about the curse. Let's hope it's the same with the cure.”

* * *

Dean was dozing, feet propped up on the bed next to Cas's knees. The angel wasn't sleeping, not exactly, but he'd managed to fall into a kind of restless meditation. He'd shift every now and then, and the ruined wings would rustle and creak. 

“Dean?” Sammy had pushed the door open slightly. Dean waved him in, his expression tightening ever so slightly when Jack followed.

“Anything?” Dean demanded quietly. Cas shuddered on the bed, arms wrapped tightly around his chest. The pain seemed to lessen over time, but his grace wasn't strong enough to counteract the spell and his exposed wings just seemed to drain his strength.

“We're going to cure Jack of the curse, and that should remove everything he's done.”

“Should?” Dean stared at Jack. The kid shrank back a little, eyes focused on the toes of his shoes.

“I wanted to do it in here so Cas is within range,” Sam continued. “There's a purifying aspect to the spell, it should help.”

Dean folded his arms, but felt Cas tugging at his sleeve. “He's right, Dean,” the angel rasped. Dean glanced down. Cas's eyes had a determined set to them, but it didn't quite cover the pain shining there. “Removing the curse's origin will remove it's effects,” Cas continued. 

Jack sat down on the floor, a bowl in front of him. He glanced up at Sam nervously, then over at Cas and Dean. The young man rolled up his sleeves and dragged a knife across one arm, reopening a slash he'd undoubtedly made when casting the curse. He let the knife gather a few drops of blood, then placed it in the bowl and uttered a few words.

The bowl exploded with a flare of yellow light so bright Dean had to shade his eyes with his hand. A loud tone, almost like a peal from a bell, filled the room loud enough to make their ears ring.

And through it all, Dean heard Cas gasp. He whipped around in time to see the angel arch against the bed, wings spasming and dissolving into bright blue wisps before being absorbed back into Cas's body. The angel collapsed, exhaustion evident in the slump of his body, his face slack in obvious relief. 

“Cas?” Dean bent over the bed, cupping Cas's face in his hands. “Hey, man, you okay?”

“I'm fine, Dean,” Cas's voice was steady and strong again, his eyes bright and clear. “Everything's as it should be.”

Dean thought of those twisted, scarred limbs that should have been a symbol of the angel's power. No, it wasn't as it should be...but it was back to where it was. And maybe that was all they could ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I swore I would never do a wing fic because they're so hard to get right. 
> 
> Oh well.
> 
> Man I have had a rough couple of days. Had a bad fall at work yesterday (I'm okay but ouch), had to leave work early because of pain, and my coworker has just been grumpy all week. 
> 
> So now that you're feeling sorry for me, how about some love? :3


	9. Day Nine: Don't Let Your Step-Kids Conspire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jack put their heads together to decide on a Christmas present for Castiel. Catnip may or may not be involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a panel at JIB con 2018 (I think), and the discussion of what would go in the "Cas Cave" if he had a private space in the bunker.
> 
> Just some fluff before we hit the heavy part. The next three stories are tied more closely together to make up the finale.

Claire wrapped her hands around her coffee cup, leaning one hip against the counter in the bunker's kitchen. Jody had told her to head to the bunker a few days ahead of the rest of them—presumably to finish Christmas shopping, but she knew it was really to give Claire time alone with Sam and Dean. It would be hard to get once the entire Mills Home for Wayward Girls descended, and even though Claire loved her sisters sometimes she just didn't want to share the rest of her family.

“Good morning, Claire,” Jack grabbed his own mug to fill at the coffeemaker then turned to the table—armed with sugar, chocolate syrup, and a handful of flavored creamers.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sitting down across from him. Jack was okay...it was a little weird being around him, though. Claire had to remind herself she had no right to be jealous of Castiel's adopted son since she had rejected any attempt on his part to be her parent. And she had refused the Winchesters' offers to move to the bunker, so she shouldn't be jealous that Jack got to spend more time with them.

It would probably have been harder to accept Jack if he hadn't immediately wrapped her in a hug and declared them siblings (since she was the biological daughter of Castiel's vessel). And having heard so many stories about the big, bad nephilim and coming face-to-face with the human version of a kitten in a sweater...well, Claire did have a soft spot for kids like him.

“I'm trying to get my coffee how I like it,” Jack explained. “Same took me to get a latte last week, and I think I can remember enough of the taste to make one myself.”

“I think you need milk for that,” Claire said. “I don't think...Irish Cream non-dairy creamer...is the same thing,” she balanced two of the little creamer cups on top of each other.

“Then it's an adventure,” Jack announced. “Maybe we'll discover a new taste.”

Claire felt a smile creep across her face and tried to hide it by taking a sip of coffee. She watched Jack pour two creamers and some chocolate syrup into his cup, take a sip, add sugar, take another sip. “What are you up to today, Jack?”

“Nothing much,” Jack shrugged. “I did something wrong a little while ago and Sam and Dean are making me catalog some of the storerooms as punishment, but they said I could take a break until after Christmas. How about you?”

“Just some Christmas shopping,” Claire shrugged. She'd made a list of the vinyl albums Dean had in his room, as there was a good-sized music store about an hour away from the bunker. Too bad there wasn't a 'what to get for your almost-surrogate-dad' guide.

Jack's face lit up. “Can I come? I still need to get presents for Cas and Mary.”

Claire hesitated. Then again, what could it hurt. “Why not? We'll leave once we finish our coffee.”

* * *

Monroe Records was a massive, two-story building in the old part of town. The first floor had been converted to a bookstore and cafe, while the second held a wide selection of music and other gifts. “I'm gonna look through these,” she told Jack, pausing at a bin of classic rock on vinyl. “Let me know if you find something.”

One entire wall of the records shop was covered in vintage-looking metal signs. One talked about asking God for patience and a shotgun...well, she did need a gift for her newest sister.

She'd found two records Dean didn't have and was starting to look at some new headphones when Jack rushed over to her and tugged on her sleeve.

“Claire! I found a poster that looks like Cas, you have to see it!”

Claire sighed and followed the kid to the poster display. She'd been expecting an angel, or maybe a warrior, something that embodied the hero worship Jack had for his adoptive father. 

Instead he pointed out a poster of a kitten in a giant coffee cup. The kitten was squinting at the camera, head tilted at a familiar angle, fur sticking up on top of its head like it had just woken up. Claire clapped a hand over her mouth—the kitten even had blue eyes.

“See? What do you think?”

She managed to calm herself enough to answer Jack, though she still wanted to laugh at the comparison he'd drawn. “I think it's perfect, but don't you want to get him more than a poster?”

“Like...two posters?”

Claire started to answer, but as her eyes traveled over the display she found several more kitten posters. None of them compared to the Cas-kitten one, but it gave her an idea. “Let's get them all. Anything you find with a cat on it—we'll decorate his room.”

Jack had pulled the Cas-kitten poster out of its bin and stared at it thoughtfully. “Do you think he'd like that?”

“He hasn't decorated himself, has he? Besides, everyone likes kittens.” There was no need to mention 'the ugliest cat from the Hot Topical' that still traveled around with her. She tried so hard to see past her father's face to make a connection with Cas—maybe giving each other useless cat presents was a start.

“Claire, does this one count?” Jack called, pointing to a poster with a kitten curled up with a bulldog puppy. “It has a dog.”

Claire doubled over with laughter when she saw it. “God, yes, Jack. It's Cas and Dean.”

Jack squinted up at the poster in question, tilting his head slightly to look at it. “I don't see the resemblance,” he finally said.

She just chuckled and pulled the poster out, handing it to Jack to add to the half-dozen in his arms. “Trust me, Jack. It's them.”

* * *

“Hey, kiddo,” Dean ruffled her hair when he walked past her, messing it up on purpose. “Did you two have fun on your little adventure?”

Claire shot him a fake dirty look as she smoother her hair back. “We got some shopping done,” she retorted. “Did you get your denture cream, old man?”

“I'll have you know these are enchanted,” Dean pulled himself up regally, flashing her a big smile and tapping one tooth. “No denture cream required.”

“Claire!” Jack was practically bouncing, blocking the hallway to the dorms. “Can we take them now? Can we show them?”

“Show us what?” Dean folded his arms and looked from Jack to Claire. “What did you do now?”

“Come on, Cas!” Jack grabbed Castiel by the hand and tugged him down the hall. Claire followed with Sam and Dean on her heels. 

“We decorated your room,” Jack announced, pushing the door open and ushering Cas inside. “I hope you like it.”

Eight cat-themed posters lined the wall of the small room, and an indoor terrarium of catnip stood on one of the shelves. They'd even stopped by a thrift store and found some old glass figurines of cats and Claire had carefully lined those up next to the terrarium. The Cas-kitten poster was hanging directly behind the bed, so it was one of the first things you saw when you entered the room.

Dean burst out laughing. “I didn't know you posed for posters, Cas,” he choked out. 

“Check it out, you're in this one,” Sam called, pointing to the one with the bulldog puppy. Claire nudged Jack with her shoulder—she'd been right, everyone could see it was Cas and Dean.

Castiel himself was slowly turning around and studying the walls. “You did this for me?” he asked. He was hard to read, but Claire was pretty sure he was please with their work.

“We wanted you to feel at home,” Jack said. “We thought...that is, Claire thought you might like something personal here. Because you live here.”

The angel wrapped one arm around Jack and hesitantly held the other out to Claire. She held back for a moment, but maybe Christmas was time to start over, and slipped in to wrap her arms around him.

“Merry Christmas, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note one: Season 14 Jack is totally a kitten in a sweater...he's quite possibly the most adorable thing ever.
> 
> Note two: I am in desperate need of Claire meets Jack stories. I'm pretty sure he'd declare her his big sister and she'd act all tsundere about it but actually love him.


	10. Day Ten: The Merciful Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the entire bunker falls ill with a mysterious virus, Castiel is the only one immune. But when your patients are all Winchesters—or honorary Winchesters—you've got your hands full. (Finale part 1)

“Sorry, Cas,” Sam murmured, even as he leaned into the cool cloth wiping down his face and neck. 

“Bodily fluids do not bother me, Sam,” Cas replied, his gravely voice low and soothing. “I wish I could take this illness from all of you.”

Sam shuddered and tried to relax against his pillows, but nothing seemed to ease the ache in his body. “Even angel mojo can't touch the flu, I guess.”

Cas frowned. “I still think I should do something,” he replied, filling a laundry basket with the soiled linens he'd had to strip from Sam's bed.

“Hey,” Sam feebly caught his friend's wrist. “You're doing plenty, Cas.” After all, the angel was left tending to an entire bunker of sick Winchesters (plus Claire, Jack, and Bobby). He couldn't imagine any of them were very good patients at the best of times, much less when all of them bar Cas were down.

“What are you wearing?” Sam asked after Cas had finally gathered the dirty linens and stood to take them to the laundry room.

Cas looked down at himself. He looked a little odd in a faded black T-shirt and a pair of jeans, both of which were just slightly too big. “Dean said these were more practical to keep clean,” he explained.

Sam closed his eyes with a groan. “Who threw up on you?”

The angel was silent for a few seconds. “Your mother,” he finally admitted. “She has been hesitant to accept my help, even though this virus has struck her the hardest.”

“Well, considering you've been offering me sponge baths every few hours that could be why,” Sam offered.

“It makes no sense,” Cas sounded practically grumpy as he pulled a clean pair of socks out of Sam's drawer and sat down at the foot of the bed to yank the sweaty ones off the hunter's feet. “I know she's female, but even though my vessel is male my true self has no real gender. There can be no harm in easing a friend's discomfort.”

Sam tried not to laugh at this while Cas awkwardly wrestled clean socks onto his feet. “It's probably just because she's sick,” he offered, hoping to soothe his friend's feelings without making the situation worse. “She can't understand the full situation right now, that's all.”

Cas sighed, and something in his posture reminded Sam so much of Dean he nearly laughed. “I called Sheriff Mills,” Cas confessed. “She said Alex and Patience can be here later today. Perhaps your mother will be more willing to accept help from another female.”

“That was a good call,” Sam let his eyes fall shut again. The exhaustion was another thing—between that and the full-body aches he just didn't want to leave bed.

“She seemed impatient,” Cas replied. “I do not think it was a good call...she asked why I waited a full day to call for help.”

“No, Cas,” Sam yawned. “I just meant it was a good idea.”

“Oh.” A rough, cool hand passed over Sam's forehead. “I'll leave you to rest, my friend. I will hear your prayers if you need me.”

Sam tried to voice his thanks, but Cas was already sending him into a deep, healing sleep.

* * *

Cas found Dean ensconced on one of the library sofas, wrapped in several blankets and with a bucket at his side.

“Dean.”

“Don't even,” Dean held up one hand and coughed into the other. “You've got enough to look after, Cas, let me take care of myself.”

Cas leaned over the back of the couch and pressed a hand to Dean's head despite the hunter's protests. “Your temperature is not as elevated as Sam's,” he commented.

“Yeah, well, kid always did get hit harder than me,” Dean retorted. He lightly slapped a hand against Cas's chest. “Casual works for you. You look more like a badass and less like an accountant.”

The angel didn't respond but took a seat in one of the nearby chairs. “This illness vexes me, Dean,” he finally said. “If two of you would display the same symptoms I could understand, but Sam can hardly move for nausea while Jack merely has a high fever. Bobby refuses my aid, Claire says her symptoms are all 'further down' and has set up a bed in one of the bathrooms, and your mother had steadfastly declared that caring for you all is her job and has to be locked in her room.”

Dean shrugged in sympathy. “Flu can hit everyone different, Cas,” he paused to cough. “You still feeling okay?”

“I have no symptoms beyond minor irritation and fatigue from caring for so many stubborn charges.”

Cas cocked his head, his brow furrowing in a frown. “Jack is awake. If your nausea has abated, Dean, I will bring you some broth to sip in a little while.”

He was up and out of the room before Dean could respond.

* * *

Everything was darkness and heat and a dull pain deep in his bones. Jack shifted restlessly, stuck in a dark limbo between hot and cold. He cried out for his father, and a soothing hand against his forehead answered. 

He was propped up against a comforting chest, soaking in the familiar presence of his adoptive father. One of Castiel's hands stroked through Jack's hair, while the other held a cup to his lips to drink. The liquid inside was the same bitter herbal remedy Cas had given him every time, but it truly did seem to help his fever. The hand continued to card through his sweaty hair, and he could hear the rumble of the angel's voice through his chest as Cas sung one of Dean's favorite songs. 

“H-hurts,” Jack finally managed to stammer out.

“Oh, Jack, I know,” Cas smoothed the hair away from Jack's eyes. “The fever is causing you pain but it will pass. It is already better than it was yesterday.”

Jack sniffed and buried his face in Cas's shoulder. “I don't like it.”

Cas tucked him closer against his own body and began singing again, softly. His voice was low, and just a little out of tune, but it soothed Jack's fevered mind and let him slowly slip back to sleep.

* * *

Castiel had stopped asking if Claire needed help, instead leaving baskets with fresh clothes and food and water outside the door to her bathroom at regular intervals. Bobby had waved off all help saying he was too old for a nursemaid. Mary had finally agreed to sleep for a few hours if Cas promised to wake her if one of the others got worse. 

Angels did not feel exhaustion from caring for a half-dozen sick humans...but he did feel relief with Jody's other daughters appeared with groceries and medicine. Castiel immediately found himself pushed into one of the more comfortable chairs in the library with the instruction to put his feet up and watch Dean, before the girls were off—Alex to treat the sick humans, Patience to the kitchen to prepare food. 

One of the phones on the library table began buzzing and Cas picked it up to answer it.

“Mary Winchester?”

Cas held the phone out and squinted at it. The number was unknown, but that was common in the hunter community. “Who is this?”

“Simon—Simon Gallagher. I, uh, worked with her in Missouri? She said I could call if I needed help?”

“I'm afraid Mary is indisposed at the moment,” Castiel replied. 

“Oh, well, maybe you could help me. See, Mary was helping me track down a cursed object and I found it, but I don't have anywhere safe for it.”

Castiel rubbed one hand down his face, a gesture he'd picked up from Dean. “What kind of curse?”

“It, uh, it makes people sick. I think a witch was trying to use it, but I had my flu shot so it didn't take.”

“That would explain why Mary has suddenly been ill,” Cas mused aloud. “I can pick this object up, where are you?”

“Hey, I don't want you getting sick. I'll just...shove it in my attic? Maybe it's safe there?”

“No, you wait for me,” Cas ignored Dean's questions and picked up his trench coat from where it had lain across one of the empty chairs. He didn't even notice that he was still in the tee and jeans rather than his suit. “I'm coming to meet you.”

* * *

Cas pulled into the old truck stop where he and Simon had agreed to meet. The man was leaning against an old station wagon, all scruffy blond beard and oversized blue coat. “You're Castiel?” he asked as the angel climbed out of his truck.

“Yes,” Cas lifted a small wooden box out of the bed of the truck. “This should hold the medallion 

safely, do you have it?” Perhaps they could study it and develop a counter-curse to prevent further magical illnesses.

“Right here,” Simon stepped forward with a round, flat disc in his hand, but instead of dropping it into the box he lunged forward and pressed it against Castiel's chest.

The angel staggered back as he felt the runes etched into the medallion activate. He dropped the box to pry at the medallion but it seemed fastened to his chest, absorbing his grace and draining his strength.

“I must say, that was easier than I thought,” Simon commented, his voice taking on an English accent. “The old men really knew their stuff—too bad they couldn't get the job done.”

Cas glowered up at the man as he collapsed to his knees, the weakness spreading through his body. “You're one of the Men of Letters?”

“And you boys thought you'd gotten us all,” Simon crouched to study Castiel, face unreadable. “There are a few of us still kicking.”

More men had appeared as they talked, and Castiel couldn't even fight as a pair of sigiled cuffs were clapped around his wrists.

“The Winchester angel,” Simon mused, tilting Cas's head up for inspection. “You're going to help us do something incredible. And then your little hunter friends are going to pay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last three chapters are connected for a continuing story. So in the next chapter we'll see Cas in the hands of his captors and Winchesters & Co trying to find him. So be prepared, the next chapter contains violence.
> 
> This is another one I've thought about expanding into a larger tale. 
> 
> Also, to be honest, I've been sick all day so I think this one got a little jumbled around. Oh well, hope it comes through anyway.


	11. Day Eleven: The Winchester Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Cas is captured by a rogue agent of the British Men of Letters, Dean and Sam race against time to rescue him. But can they get to him before it's too late? (Part 2 of finale)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the hurt before the comfort, folks. This chapter also gets a T rating, for violence, but nothing on-screen.

With a hood over his head and sigiled cuffs locking down his strength, Cas could only put up a minimal fight as his captors dragged him out of the station wagon and into a cold, empty space. One of them released his arm for a moment and Cas took advantage of that, dropping to pull his other captor off balance and lashing out with one leg blindly. He kicked something, hard enough that the second captor cursed and released him.

At a faint hint of sound behind him Cas turned and barreled toward it, shoulder lowered in a charge. He felt the impact, but a pair of arms wrapped around him pinning his own arms to his body.  
Another c  
“Little shit,” one man muttered, and a sharp blow to the back of Cas's head made his legs weak. He was hauled around again, this time with more caution, and the chain between his cuffs was pulled up overhead to loop around a hook hanging from the ceiling.

Chained up, blinded, graceless...he was getting unpleasant flashbacks to Jonah and Efram. 

Simon yanked the hood off Cas's head and studied him, gaze traveling up and down, his face twisted in a mocking grin. “The Winchester angel,” he said. “We're about to get to know each other very intimately.”

“Are you attempting to intimidate me?” Cas asked. 

Simon backhanded him, splitting his lip and drawing blood. “Get his coat.”

Cas fought back a shudder as one of the men behind him slid his knife from the end of the trench coat's sleeve up to his shoulder, then repeated for the other side and tore it away, leaving him in the shirt and jeans he'd borrowed from Dean. Another coat ruined—unless they left enough for him to repair this time. Simon nodded in approval and walked a slow circle around the captive angel.

“Didn't figure you for a T-shirt under there,” he commented, trailing his fingers across the shirt's soft fabric.

Silently, Cas focused his eyes on a fan in the ceiling at the far end of the warehouse. They had to know he would never betray the Winchesters, what was the point of this? 

Then Simon's hand slid up the back of Cas's tee, and the angel flinched away from that.

Simon chuckled and forced the hem of the shirt up to the back of Castiel's neck and ran his free hand down the angel's bared back. “Hmm. Can't see where they join. Of course, wings aren't really an interest to me,” Simon let the shirt fall and walked away, out of Cas's line of sight.

“Are you aware,” Simon called from somewhere behind him, “of the spell potential for angelic grace?”

Castiel stilled. Did he know? Did Simon understand it was Castiel's own grace that had thrown the angels from heaven?

“It hasn't been researched fully,” Simon continued, unaware of his captive's sudden distress. “But there are some interesting theories I would love to test.”

A bright flash of pain lanced along Castiel's back and he jerked forward in his bindings. He knew the bite of an angel blade, having felt it firsthand far too many times. 

“Fascinating,” Simon said from directly behind him. The human prodded at the wound in the angel's back, and Cas shuddered as he felt the man come in contact with his leaking grace. “Do you know what I could do with this?”

Without waiting for an answer Simon cut into Cas's back again, the second slash crossing the first. “Let's find out together, shall we?”

* * *

“Dammit!” Dean slammed his hand against the table. “Still no answer.”

Sam was typing frantically on his laptop. “I think his phone's off, but I might be able to activate the GPS. We started putting secondary chips in our phones so we could still keep track of everyone...”

“Sammy,” Dean held up one hand to stop his brother. “Just tell me you can find him.”

“We'll find him, Dean.”

Dean sighed and rubbed one hand over his face. It had already been over a day, and still no sign of Cas. He never should have let the angel go off on his own—cursed virus be damned. 

“Here, these are the notes from the case I worked with Simon,” Mary, wrapped in a bathrobe and still far too pale, slid a spiral-bound notebook over to Dean. “It seemed straightforward at the time, but I don't know.”

The notebook had a list of victims, crime scenes, suspects...all in his mother's neat handwriting. “Some of these names look familiar,” Dean offered, passing the notebook to Sammy.

Sam glanced up from his computer for a moment. “This name...Titus Everett. Wasn't his sister with us on the raid to the British Men of Letters?”

Mary moved around to look over Sam's shoulders. “Everett isn't an uncommon name, but you might be right.”

Bobby stalked into the war room at that moment and slumped down into one of the chairs. He looked a little better than Mary but not by much—of the entire bunker of sick hunters Dean was really the only one recovered enough to work...but it was Cas. They wouldn't be staying in bed if Sam or Jack were missing, so anyone who could stay awake for more than five minutes was helping in the hunt for the wayward angel.

“Called a few of our people,” Bobby said, after taking a few moments to catch his breath. The virus had hit him more like pneumonia than a stomach bug, and he'd nearly coughed himself hoarse. “Jules heard a rumor about some foreigner poking around one of the old hunter's cabins. She's headed back there to see what she can find.”

“What can I do?” the hunters at the table turned as one to see a pale, trembling Jack being guided into the room with one arm wrapped around Claire's shoulders.

“Don't look at me like that,” Claire protested. “It was either help him here or lock him up and you won't let me have the keys to this place.”

Dean quickly helped Claire ease Jack into an empty chair and dragged a second around for him to put his feet up. “Here, you read through these,” he ordered, snatching Mary's notebook from Sam. “Tell us if you find anything suspicious.”

They probably had everything they needed from the case notes, but he knew Jack wouldn't stop until he was given a task.

“Jody called some contacts she has in Missouri,” Claire offered, sitting down between Bobby and Sam, across the table from Mary. “We're looking for that crappy truck Cas drives, right?”

Dean passed his laptop over to her. “Know how to check traffic cams, Miley?”

“Probably better than you, Hasselhoff,” she retorted. Dean tousled her hair, not that it made much difference when she hadn't washed or brushed it since they'd started getting sick. 

“Got it!” Sam announced moments later. “I'm getting a ping from Cas's phone, but it's just off the local cell towers, I couldn't get one from the GPS.”

Dean leaned over his brother's shoulder, glaring down at the map on the screen. “That's not exactly a small area to check.”

“It's better than what we have,” Mary replied, interrupting before an argument could start. “At least we have a place to start looking.”

“I'll check for supernatural phenomena in that area,” Sam opened a new window and started typing. Dean straightened up, an unpleasant knot in his stomach.

“What do you mean, Sammy?” he asked quietly, shooting a glance over to Jack to make sure the kid wasn't listening. Jack had his head bent over the notebook, but Dean was pretty sure he'd dozed off.

“What are the chances whoever took him is just hanging onto him?” Sam looked up at his brother, his own eyes sick with worry. “Remember Samandriel?”

Dean swallowed and slumped back, leaning against the reference board behind the table. 

He didn't want to think about his best friend being tortured—again. But it might be the only lead they had.

* * *

Castiel didn't bother holding back his cry when the whip bit into his back again. Simon had bored of the angel blade after making a few dozen cuts across Cas's back and chest, and had moved on to a long leather whip with a bit of ethereal alloy at the tip and Enochian runes burned into the leather.

Dean's T-shirt hung in bloody tatters, and Simon wrapped his fist in the loose fabric and gave it a vicious tug. The seam ripped along one shoulder, but the collar caught on Cas's neck and the motion pulled him toward Simon, making the cuffs dig into his wrists as he was yanked against them.

There hadn't been any questions. Just a brutal, methodical beating. Simon stepped back and motioned one of his associates forward—the one with the Enochian brass knuckles. He'd had a turn once already, when Simon had stopped to smoke a cigarette.

Castiel tried to pull himself upright, working up enough moisture in his mouth to ask a question. “Why?”

Simon spun around. “It speaks!” he crowed. “I thought you had forgotten, pet.”

The angel tried to turned away as Simon stroked one hand down his bruised face. “You haven't asked any questions.”

“Oh, I don't need information,” Simon said, soothingly. He'd produced a knife and was now cutting the rest of the T-shirt loose. “I know your little friends are going to find you eventually. I just want to leave them with a message.”

Simon beckoned to someone else out of sight, and Castiel heard metal scraping against the ground as a chair was dragged forward. “I think we're ready for the next step,” he announced, lifting the cuff chain free of the hook. “Diego?”

The big man—the one who'd aborted Cas's escape attempt before—grabbed the angel by the shoulders and forced him down into the chair while Simon unlocked the cuffs and replaced them with wide leather straps that locked Castiel's arms to the chair. Similar straps fastened at his biceps between elbow and shoulder, across his chest and waist, and at the thigh and ankle on both legs. 

“I believe you are familiar with the demon Asmodeus?” Simon called over his shoulder. He was back at the table, behind Cas. “I hear you had a few encounters with him.”

Castiel refused to answer, though it appeared the question was rhetorical. 

“Fascinating case,” Simon continued, moving back around to stand in front of Cas. “He had his own ideas for angel grace.”

There was a familiar syringe in Simon's hands, one Castiel had secretly hoped to never see again. He'd used one to pull Gadreel's grace from Sam's body and almost killed his friend in the process...Asmodeus had used one to drain Gabriel and boost his own power.

“From what I understand, this is going to hurt.”

A fist tangled in Cas's hair, yanking his head sideways to expose his neck, and Simon plunged the needle in deep.

* * *

“The Missouri power grid is showing a surge in the area of one of those towers,” Claire leaned over the seat in the Impala, holding her phone out for Sam to see. “They're stating major malfunction.”

Sam took the phone and compared it to the information he had on his laptop. “Looks like it's an industrial district,” he commented. When they'd failed to turn up further leads, the three of them had piled in the Impala to check out the last known location of Cas's phone. 

“Of course it's a warehouse,” Dean grumbled. “How do the bad guys always find warehouses?”

“Looks like we're an hour out,” Sam said, pulling up the map on his phone. “Do we have a plan?”

“Kill the bad guys. Rescue the angel,” Dean retorted.

“It's not that simple.”

“When isn't it?” Dean glanced over at his brother. “Every time we make a plan we fall back on the same thing, Sammy: we improvise. I say we skip the plan this time, kill everything that isn't Cas, and be back home in time for Christmas.”

“What if these guys are human?” Sam asked softly. “Mom said that Simon guy was human...Dean, if it's other humans that took Cas....”

Dean's lips tightened. “They made a choice, Sammy. It's not the first time humans have been the monsters.”

Claire leaned back in her seat. “First time I've ever hoped I was facing a monster.”

Dean caught her eye in the rear-view mirror. “Yeah...me too, kiddo.”

* * *

Cas could barely keep his head up, pain tearing through his body straight down to the remnants of his grace. Simon hadn't taken it all but what grace was left was shredded and weakened, to the point where he could have been restrained without the angel-proof sigils.

“And to think, you keep this all to yourselves,” Simon mused, holding the extractor up to the light. Pearly-blue wisps gathered in the bottom of the glass cylinder, glowing ethereally in the darkening warehouse. 

“That is not...for humans,” Castiel managed to say.

“Oh, of course, you know best,” Simon patted him on the head. “Then again, I've never met an angel that didn't lie.”

Cas rolled his head to get away from the man's condescending touch. Simon turned away, mesmerized by the vial in his hand. “What are you going to do?” Cas asked.

“Boss!” Simon was interrupted when one of his men barreled into the room. “They're here!”

“What?” Simon dropped the extractor on the table behind him and hurried over to one of the windows. “How did they find us so fast?”

“What do we do?” the man cried, obviously panicking. “You said we had days.”

It had to be the Winchesters. 

Simon swore. “Hold them off. I still have a few things to test.” He ignored the man's protests and stalked back to the table. “I wanted to save this for last,” he commented over his shoulder. “Looks like our timeline just jumped forward.”

Cas could hear gunfire outside the warehouse now, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the vial of his grace. “What are you doing?”

Simon jammed the needle of the extractor into his own arm and pressed down the plunger. “Taking what I deserve,” he snarled, resting the palm of his hand on Cas's head. Cas felt the stirring of his own grace directed back at him, and everything went white.

* * *

They were human, but they had opened fire first. Dean tucked Claire behind him, sheltered by the Impala on one side and a piece of gutted machinery on the other. There were only three or four men, panicking and disorganized, obviously not prepared for an attack.

Sam signaled that he was heading around the far side of the warehouse, but an explosion of blue light knocked out the windows of the warehouse and sent the enemy gunmen scattering. Dean charged past them, hearing Sam calling for their surrender. 

The interior of the warehouse was a smoking ruin. Everything had been blown back from a point toward the other end of the warehouse, equipment and furniture lying in ruined heaps.

There were two bodies at the center point of the explosion: one splayed out on the ground, the other bound to a metal chair that had been knocked over by the blast.

Dean side-stepped the first body, which bore the classic signs of an angelic smiting, to tug at the straps holding Cas to the chair. “Cas?” Dean rested one palm against his friend's cheek as he pulled one buckle free, heart pounding, searching for some sign of life. Blood was trickling sluggishly out of the angel's nose—that was good, right? Moving blood meant a beating heart, didn't it?

Cas moaned. His eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused. “Dean?”

Dean almost winced at the rawness of the angel's voice. Cas was shirtless and covered in blood and bruises, the worst wounds still oozing blood.

But not grace.

“Hey, man, you okay?” 

“My grace,” Cas coughed, grabbing Dean's shoulder for support as soon as he had one arm free. “He tried to use it.”

Dean glanced at the body behind him, pulling out a knife to just cut through the remaining straps rather than mess with the buckles. “What do you mean?”

Cas fell forward against him with a whimper, struggling to pull his legs free of the twisted metal. “H-he took it. Pulled it out,” Cas coughed again, sagging against Dean as the hunter slid an arm around him for support.

Dean swallowed, arm tightening around his friend. “Cas, did he...is your grace gone?”

The angel shook with a suppressed sob. “Dean...I don't know.”

Dean pulled Cas free of the wreckage and wrapped both arms around him. “We'll fix this,” he promised, though he didn't know how. “I swear, Cas, we'll fix this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left to wrap this up! I didn't read over this one as closely as the others, because I'm updating from a hotel room where the walls are so thin I can hear the guy in the next room (who is apparently on speakerphone with a crying baby). So now I'm gonna turn up some Rifftrax and finish knitting that badger for my sister-in-law.
> 
> Merry Christmas!


	12. Day Twelve: The Christmas Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has been rescued and is recovering in the bunker, albeit slowly. Just as Dean and Sam and the others are learning how to help the angel with his long-term recovery, an unexpected visitor shows up with a most welcome gift. (Finale part 3--the end)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was the hurt...this one's the comfort

Dean tucked another blanket around Cas's sleeping form, patting the angel's shoulder as he did. They were in the library, ostensibly researching ways to recharge angel grace, but Cas couldn't seem to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time. So Dean left him curled on one end of the sofa and sat at the other—Cas's feet barely touching his hip—to sort through yet another lengthy tome on supernatural beings.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam had his laptop open when he walked up, giving Cas a worried glance. “I found something out about that Simon guy, think we should wake him up?”

“I am not sleeping,” Cas replied, groggily. Dean bit back a grin, It seemed their almighty, powerful angel was reluctant to admit his recent captivity had left him at near-human levels of weakness. 

He couldn't even bring himself to rub it in the guy's face, though. Finding Cas battered and bruised, the faint remnant of his grace barely enough to mend the worst of the damage after the beating he'd endured...well, that was something Dean could live the rest of his life without repeating.

“Simon Gallagher,” Sam began, settling into the seat opposite Dean and Cas. “He was actually a former vessel.”

Cas struggled to sit upright at this. “How did you find that information?”

“It's a report from the British Men of Letters, Mom still had some of their access codes. Simon was possessed by an angel named Paschar. The Brits exorcised Paschal but during the possession Simon's fiance and brother were casualties of angelic infighting.”

Cas had pulled his knees up to his chest and let his head fall against them. “His anger was very...direct," he said. Dean could see the edge of Cas's bandages through the collar of his new pajamas. 

“You said he tried to smite you?” Sam asked.

Cas nodded. “I felt my own grace being channeled against me, but there was some kind of interference.”

“Yeah, that would explain what happened,” Sam clicked around on his laptop a few times. “There's a theory that a possessed human might be able to control angel grace, at least for a short time, but because he tried to use yours against you it caused a feedback loop. The grace detonated instead, as it was being told to attack itself, basically. Unfortunately, that meant that whatever grace was in Simon burned out.”

If possible, Cas curled up on himself even further. “What I have left will recharge,” he said, voice muffled by his own knees.

“Yeah, but how long will that take?” Dean asked, resting a hand on Cas's foot. “You're in pretty bad shape right now...you gonna heal in human time or what?”

“Couldn't you use soul power?” Sam interjected. “You used Bobby's soul to power up when we were trying to get the phoenix ashes to fight Eve, would that help now?”

Cas lifted his head and stared blearily at the wall behind Dean. “I don't have the control over my grace to touch your souls right now. It would be disastrous.”

“There's gotta be something,” Sam said, closing his laptop with a sigh.

When Cas didn't answer for a moment, Dean leaned in closer to him. “Cas? Wanna share something?”

“There...there is one thing,” the angel said, hesitantly. “Your souls are not completely contained in your bodies. There is...radiation might be the best word.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “We put out soul waves?”

Cas shook his head. “More like...like your souls are very warm, and anyone who is close enough can feel that warmth. I could use that energy, it would only be a small increase in power but it would help.”

“All right,” Dean slapped his hands on his thighs. “Let's do it.”

“Dean...” Cas shot him an exasperated look. “You don't understand.”

“You need some soul snuggles,” Dean opened his arms, wiggling his fingers in invitation. “You're the little spoon, okay?”

“Dean,” Sam glared at him. “What would you need, Cas?”

Castiel slowly unfolded his knees, fingers twisting together in his lap. “Physical contact would be enough,” he said, voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. “But you would not be comfortable with the extent of time needed for any transfer of energy to take place.”

“Just get over here,” Dean patted one leg. “I think I can give up my man card for a few days if it gets you back on your feet.”

“Dean...” Cas was giving him one of those looks again. Those painful, affectionate looks that meant the angel didn't believe he could mean that much to someone.

Sam abruptly pushed Cas over, giving Dean the opportunity to settle Cas's head on his knee. “Just wait until you meet Donna,” the younger hunter said, sitting down on the couch and pulling Cas's legs into his own lap. “Once she finds out she can hug you back to health you'll be better in no time.”

“Yeah,” Dean arranged the blanket so it was covering Cas more completely. “Come on, man, just let us take care of you.”

Cas finally relaxed a little, one hand looping around Dean's knee as the hunter ran his own hand through the angel's hair. “You will tell me if this becomes uncomfortable?”

“Trust us, Cas,” Sam ran a soothing hand up and down the angel's calf. “I've got a plan.”

* * *

Operation Cuddle Angel (Dean's name for the plan) was actually working. Sam and Dean weren't the only ones who wanted their angel back in top shape, and Cas was making rapid progress with so many helping in the healing process.

Jack slept curled up against Cas at night, head tucked firmly under the angel's chin. Donna (who had taken to giving Cas a long hug every time she passed him in the hall, claiming she had the warmest soul in the bunker) packed him in between her and Alex to watch old Christmas movies. Claire sat knee-to-knee with him as they tried to beat Sam in chess or checkers. Mary brought Enochian texts or spells and sat with their shoulders touching as he taught her the translations.

Of course, it wasn't quite as rapid as Dean had hoped.

The worst of the wounds were healed, the bruises were faded, and while careful experimenting showed that Cas's grace was recharging he was nowhere near full power. 

Nothing in the bunker could give them a way to recharge Cas faster—not without another angel willing to top up his grace, and Dean didn't trust that one of those winged dicks wouldn't take advantage of Cas's weakened state to end him once and for all.

So Christmas Eve found Dean settled on the hill above the bunker, wrapped in a couple of old wool blankets, with a half-powered angel snoozing against his shoulder as Sam and Jack pored over an old astronomy book they'd dug up from somewhere. Sam was teaching Jack how to navigate using the stars, but the nephilim kept running off topic by asking about other galaxies and star systems. Down in the bunker, Mom and the others were no doubt braiding each other's hair and watching chick flicks, or whatever women did in large numbers. But up here, in the quiet of the night and the silvery light of the stars, the world was actually peaceful for once.

“I didn't think we'd have this much light pollution up here,” Sam commented. “Hey, Dean, can you normally see Lebanon's lights from the bunker?”

“You're looking in the wrong direction, Sammy,” Dean replied, taking a swig of his beer. “Lebanon's more to the west—sure you should be teaching the kid navigation?”

“Very funny,” Sam rolled his eyes. “Look, there's something lighting up the sky over here.”

Dean stood up, muttering to himself about pain-in-the-ass little brothers, dislodging Cas as he did. “Yeah, that's weird,” he replied. It wasn't just light pollution...the light was starting to move through the light spectrum, almost like an aurora. “I think we should get back in the bunker.”

“Dean!” Sam grabbed his sleeve as the lights in front of them filled the sky, swirling the colors of the spectrum in a dizzying dance. 

“This is not good,” Cas said, standing on Dean's other side. “I haven't seen power like this since Raphael disintegrated me.”

Jack was on Cas's other side, fist twisted in the sleeve of Cas's borrowed coat (he still hadn't been able to repair or replace the trench coat). “Is it Raphael?”

The wind nearly drowned out Jack's words. The trees around them were whipping back and forth as though in a hurricane, and the coruscating lights were almost bright enough to blind.

Dean could see a figure in the midst of the swirling colors; just the barest impression of a silhouette. “Who are you?” he shouted, taking a step forward as though to shelter the rest of the family.

“Hey, calm down,” a light, familiar voice called out of the maelstrom. “Don't be afraid—I have some good news, after all.”

Castiel's knees weakened. He grabbed Dean's shoulder for support, nearly falling to the ground. “Gabriel?”

The swirling winds slowed, the colors faded, and standing there was the archangel Gabriel.

“How?” Sam demanded. “We saw you die, in the apocalypse world.”

“Let's just say death doesn't take very well with me,” Gabriel smirked. “Short answer is I had a spell in place...you might have noticed a certain Christmas song this year?”

Dean frowned, still trying to step in front of Cas. Even if this really was Gabriel, the trickster angel had hurt Cas before. “So what?”

“So,” Gabriel spread his hands out, rolling his eyes. “It's a spell, dummy. If I don't reset it that godawful song hits the labels and bam! Thousands of faithful worshipers calling my name.”

“I guess it makes sense,” Sammy had that thoughtful look on his face—the one that usually meant he was about to say something really boring. “I mean, look at the time of year...Gabriel is part of the Christmas narrative, there has to be millions of people all saying his name right now.”

“Bingo,” Gabriel pointed a finger at Sam and winked.

“But why come here now?” Deam demanded. “You just show up for Christmas? Want a place at the table, gift under the tree?”

“Hey, hold your horses,” the archangel frowned. “I'm not hear for you, Dean-o. I'm here for Cas.”

Dean stepped fully in front of Cas, and felt Jack move up to his shoulder to shelter the angel further. “Why?”

“Oh for heaven's sake,” Gabriel made a small gesture with one hand and Dean and Jack slid apart, leaving Castiel face-to-face with his brother. “Heya, Cas. Heard you're not doing too good.”

Castiel had folded his arms across his middle, staring up at Gabriel with intense focus. “Why have you returned, Gabriel?”

“Look, Cassie, I'm gonna fix heaven like I promised. It's time for me to step up to the bat, remember?” Gabriel slid his hands into his trouser pockets and studied the ground between them for a moment. “I've run long enough. I think I can make it the home it should have been.”

Cas seemed to relax at that statement. “Naomi will be pleased,” he offered.

“Naomi,” Gabriel scoffed. “She'll be lucky if I don't give her a hundred koi ponds to maintain for a few thousand years after all the crap she's pulled. But that's not why I'm here. You want your Christmas present, Castiel?”

The lesser angel hesitated. “Do I?”

“Aw, come on,” Gabriel pulled a rolled scroll out of thin air and waggled it in front of Cas for a moment. “I promise you'll like it.”

When Castiel didn't reply, Gabriel unrolled the scroll and cleared his throat. “By mandate of Gabriel, Archangel of the Lord and Guardian of Heaven, let it be known to all and sundry that the seraph Castiel is hereby fully pardoned of any and all crimes, and is reinstated as an Angel of Heaven. Furthermore, his position as Captain of the Fourteenth Garrison is likewise restored, with the charge to remain on earth and guide the hunters known as Sam and Dean Winchester until such a time as their duties are considered completed. Seraph Castiel, do you accept these terms of your pardon?”

Cas was staring at Gabriel, open-mouthed, conflicting emotions crossing his face. “I am to be forgiven?” he asked breathlessly.

Gabriel rolled the scroll back up and held it out. “Like it never happened, little brother.”

Hand shaking, Castiel accepted the scroll from Gabriel and was pulled into a hug. “Welcome back to the family, big guy,” Gabriel said, ruffling Cas's hair.

“Cas!” Sam wrapped his arms around the angel as soon as Gabriel moved back. “Congratulations!”

Dean felt a broad smile spreading across his face as he patted his friend on the back, and Jack surprised Gabriel with a hug of his own.

“Can you stay for a while, Uncle Gabriel?” Jack asked.

“Sorry, bucko,” Gabriel ruffled Jack's hair, too, then leaned over and messed with Dean's for good measure. “I've gotta get back to heaven and start fixing the place up. But I'll be able to visit again before too long.”

“Gabriel...” Cas was clutching the scroll to his chest, voice thick with emotion. “I don't know how to thank you.”

“Oh, that's not even your Christmas present,” Gabriel turned back to his brother. “That's just an announcement from heaven. This is your present.” 

Gabriel extended two fingers and pressed them against Castiel's forehead. Nothing happened for a moment, then the lesser angel's body lit up from the inside, the bruises showing up in sharp relief only to fade to nothing. Dean and the others were pushed back by a wave of power and the wind returned to stir the leaves around them, bringing with it a smell of ozone and pine.

Castiel let out a small, garbled cry as the shadows of his wings erupted from his back. But unlike before, unlike the twisted appendages they'd seen from Jack's spell the shadows spread and straightened, the feathers filling back out until a massive pair of shadowed wings stretched between the hunters and the angels.

Gabriel released his hold and Castiel collapsed to one knee, panting for breath.

“Cas!” Dean rushed up and knelt beside his friend, one hand on his shoulder. “What did you do?” he demanded.

The archangel held one hand out as though examining his nails. “Just a little top up,” he said. “Something I've got planned for all the angels—but this one was first on my list.”

Cas lifted his head to stare at his older brother. “Gabriel...”

“Hey, I know,” Gabriel held a hand out, palm outward, to silence Castiel. “You deserve it, okay? You, of all angels, have loved our Father's creation greater than yourself. It's only fitting that you continue as their protector.”

Gabriel took one last look at the four gathered on the hilltop. “Well, I guess you guys have some good news to share. And I have some work to get to, so...until next time!” With a snap of his fingers, the archangel was gone, leaving behind the calm of the earth after a thunderstorm.

“Cas?” Dean pulled the angel to his feet. “Did he...your grace, man...what happened?”

Cas stood still with his head tilted, rolling his shoulders. He seemed to be standing straighter than usual, something in his bearing more calm and confident than before. “It is restored,” he said, simply.

“What, restored to like before Simon? Restored to when heaven was full?”

“Fully restored,” Cas turned to face Dean, eyes full of wonder and joy. “Better than when Metatron stole it. My wings...Dean, my wings are back!”

“Well, don't just stand there,” Sam gave Cas a light shove. “Try 'em out!”

Cas glanced around at them for a moment, then with the sound of rushing feathers he was gone. Dean let out a whoop of laughter, catching Jack up in a hug at the joy of the moment. Sam was clapping, dropping to sit on the ground with relief all over his face.

The flutter of invisible wings filled the air around them again and Cas reappeared, dressed this time in the suit and trench coat he'd left in the bunker (though he was wearing the Christmas tie Sam had bought him, tied sloppily around his neck).

“Dude!” Dean released Jack and flung one arm around Cas's shoulders. “Where did you go?”

Cas smiled at him—the truest, brightest smile he'd seen in a very long time. “Everywhere.”

* * *

*The End*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride! I'm never attempting this again...for at least another year.
> 
> Did you have a favorite part? Is there a chapter you'd like to see expanded into a full story? (I've got a couple,,,specifically the floodwaters one and the one with the wing spell.)
> 
> But most of all--did you enjoy it? 
> 
> Merry Christmas!


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